


Scent

by biggestbaddestwolf



Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe - Werewolf, F/M, Homophobia, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Scent Kink, Sexism, Slurs, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-12
Updated: 2013-03-12
Packaged: 2017-12-05 02:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 45,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/718070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/biggestbaddestwolf/pseuds/biggestbaddestwolf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Response to the werewolf!Puck/Kurt prompt on the kink meme, "Puck gets bitten by a werewolf, and suddenly he can't resist the smell of Kurt." Puck gets attacked in a Lima that knows they have werewolves. Written approximately part-way through season 2 (No Dalton yet)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> First scene and the inevitable transformation scene will be the worst, in terms of violence.
> 
> Puck will make a lot of dumb, very offensive decisions in this one.

Everyone at McKinley High knew two things for sure. One, Lima was the most boring place on earth. Two, number one was true unless, of course, you were dumb enough to be caught alone at the school on the night of a full moon.  
  
Noah Puckerman knew both of those facts just as well as anyone else, and that was part of the problem. He was bored, like most McKinley kids were, and when he was bored, Puck got reckless. He was the sort of reckless that decided to break into McKinley High at eleven at night on a full moon, just to see if he could last the night. A case or so of beer had been partially responsible for the decision. The rest of it could be blamed on Puck’s general stupidity.  
  
He didn’t even make it into the school, though he did break the padlock on one of the side doors. Enough time at McKinley and even someone like Puck knew that when you heard growling behind you, you stood crazy still. Puck held his breath for good measure, his hand still hovering in the air near the lock.  
  
Shit, how to deal with this situation was something they'd gone over in middle school, along with fire safety, but for the life of him, Puck can't remember what what he's supposed to do. How long does he stay still? Does he lie down and play dead, like with a bear? Does he duck his head and pretend like it won a fight? All he knows for sure was the first thing drilled into all of their heads: whatever you do, don't come off aggressively.  
  
Which, well, meant that Puckerman was good and well fucked, because when didn't he come off aggressively?  
  
Puck generally had stupid reactions to fear. Panic usually had him throwing punches, worry had him snapping and screaming. He'd never experienced being piss scared before, and he wasn't relishing the opportunity, either. But, predictably, his reaction was probably just as stupid as he'd been for being outside in the first place. Either that or, when he looked back at this moment, it might have saved his life. He liked telling the second version.  
  
He lowered his hand and turned slowly towards the growl, which grew louder in response. He, like most of McKinley, had heard about Wolves plenty, but had made a concerted effort not to see one; the occasional mangled deer or cow he'd found in their wake was usually enough to make even his skin crawl. So this was Puck's first.  
  
The Wolf was about as much a wolf as if Todd Macfarlane himself had designed it. Standing on it's hind legs, it towered over Puck, and would have easily towered over Finn as well. And even then the Wolf was bent at the waist, as if resisting the desire to just drop and be on all fours instead. Its fur was brown, dark, wet, and matted, and Puck was pretty damn sure that it was dark, wet, and matted with blood, from the smell in the air. The matted fur did nothing to hide thick, tense muscles all over its body; muscles that made Puck feel very small and very foolish. Its head was the most recognizable wolf part of it- giant jaws, with the lips back in a warning snarl. Ears pressing back against its skull. Amber eyes that glared back at Puck and gave him the creeping sense of familiarity- not because he knew the Wolf, but because the eyes felt more human than canine, and did everything to trigger all sorts of heart-pounding instincts that Puck had spent most of his life pretending he didn't have.  
  
He wasn't even going to discuss the fact that that jaw, that mouth, was filled with the most terrifying set of fangs he'd ever seen, Discovery Channel, Animal Planet, and horror movies be damned.  
  
He held up his hands and took a step forward. The Wolf's growl became a snapped bark; Puck stopped, and stepped back. "Come on big boy, you don't wanna do this. Not tonight..." Puck kept his voice as quiet and even as he could, a feat that almost escaped him entirely with the way that his breath made every word shudder and shake.  
  
The Wolf stepped forward, neither cautious nor wary. Puck knew he probably should have stepped back. At least he didn't step forward, he thought detachedly. He stayed where he was, watching the Wolf watch him.  
  
No one had died or even been bitten by a Wolf in years. Puck repeated that to himself over and over. No one had been killed or bitten by a Wolf in years because people had gotten smart. Late night on a full moon you were in a house, you were in your car. He didn’t want to be the person to break that record, he really didn’t.  
  
“Look, I don’t even know if you can understand me right now...” Puck isn’t used to babbling, isn’t used to needing to babble. “You could be just a big dumb dog for all-” The growling gets loud again. “-okay, okay dude, I get it.” Snapping’s another thing he shouldn’t be doing. “No dumb dog crap.”  
  
If Puck survived, he was going to have to get un-stupid.  
  
The Wolf’s tongue shot out, licking its lips. Puck’s lips curled in disgust, his head tilted back. At this point it wasn’t because he didn’t want to step back that he stayed in place, but because he couldn’t get his legs to move. The nauseating scent of dog and blood and wet flooded his nose, and a part of Puck was positive that if it wasn't for the smell, he could have hauled ass out of there. Done something.  
  
It was moving closer to Puck now, close enough where the scent assaulting Puck wasn't just the fur, but Wolf breath too, and it was only because Puck had a strong stomach that he didn't lose his lunch right then and there.  
  
It leaned over Puck, and sniffed at him. Puck twitched, then stilled. Stilled and then screamed, as sharp, excruciating pain followed a clamp and snap of jaw on his shoulder. Screamed and shook and screamed some. The pain radiated, spread, rushed through nerves and made his body shake.  
  
Puck's last thought before blacking out was that he really didn't want to die before finishing Call of Duty.  
  
  
The next four days of Puck's life were a rushed, confusing blur.  
  
He remembered waking up enough to hear Coach Sylvester calling him a moron as she called the ambulance. He remembered waking up for a moment in the hospital, as a wave of shuddering heat exploded from his shoulder. He might have been getting stitches at the time, or he might have woken up in a hospital room, he wasn't sure.  
  
His mom and sister crying. Typical. They didn't realize he was awake.  
  
Mr. Schuester and Coach Sylvester visiting. He opened his eyes for that one, and closed them again when Mr. Schuester ran to get to the nurse, and Coach Sylvester started to get on his case about how she ought to just stab him with a silver hairpin and put him out of his moronic idiocy.  
  
While in the hospital, he remembered waves of Glee members. Finn and Rachel, Quinn and Sam (gag, on both counts), Tina, Artie, and Mike, Santana and Brittany, even Mercedes and Kurt. A couple of times, he must have responded to comments, because they talked like he was, even if he couldn't remember what he said (pain killers, he assumed). Quinn rolled her eyes a lot. Apparently, when he was stoned on pain medication, Mercedes and Kurt thought he was hilarious.  
  
Even when he wasn't awake, he remembered the occasional song. Which was pretty cool.  
  
He got out of the hospital, still not really sure what was going on, even if, every time he came to, his body was in the middle of doing something. He remembered Quinn, on the drive back to his place, commenting that he was much easier to deal with quiet. Rachel hushed her, and they went back and forth.  
  
He stared at the stitches in the mirror, marveling at how bad the scar  _wasn't._  Sure, there was a wicked looking scar along his shoulder, but he would have thought it'd be bigger. Grosser.  
  
When he was able to speak, he says that he thinks the thing might be infected because it feels so damned warm. He ended up yanking off his shirt in the middle of talking to Artie because the heat felt like it was spreading across his whole torso. Artie frowned, but continued talking like nothing had happened.  
  
Aside from Coach Sylvester, no one had brought up  _what_  bit him. He knew everyone knew; they looked so damned depressed and awkward about the whole thing that they had to. But no one had the balls to mention it. It annoyed Puck, but  _he_  didn't know what to say about it.  
  
By day five, the strange gaps in time were gone, and he found himself laying on his bed alone in his room, the wound aching. He blinked, turned, stared at his alarm, and realized he had two hours until school. Normally, he wouldn't give a damn; he'd ditch.  
  
But hell if he was going to punk out and hide in the house until the next full moon.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The club goes for food, and Puck is distracted.

Puck had always parted crowds of students like they were the Red Sea or something. It wasn't usually intentional; although he sometimes did it to remind them who the hell he was, students just knew to get the hell out of his way.

Today's only different was in how fast they parted, how the typical high school nerdling-loser fear was so amplified Puck could imagine tasting it, sharp at the back of his throat. He moved through the hall, gripping his backpack, and wondered how long it had taken for everyone in town to know what'd happened to him. Was it the next day? Two days later? How fast did that gossip spread?

People didn't skitter away like they were worried he'd bodycheck them into the lockers; they stood frozen as if they were worried he'd somehow change right there in the hallways. It was annoying; Puck had taken a good chunk of time to cultivate the perfect level of fear among his classmates, and he resented that anything but his hard work was affecting it right now.

Even if ben Israel literally peeing himself with fear when Puck did bodycheck him made Puck chuckle. Well, until he could smell it, then it was just gross.

He made it to his locker without much incident, shoving his books in there and figuring that since he'd dragged his ass to school, he might as well go to his first class. Which turned out- after taking a quick look at the crumpled schedule he had the corner of the locker- to be English. So he grabbed the book that looked like it was most likely for English, and closed the locker.

To find Kurt Hummel staring at him.

"Uh...dude, what do you want?" Puck blinked, because he thought he'd made it pretty clear that Kurt wasn't supposed to talk to him outside of Glee club. Even if the guy had visited him in the hospital, that wasn't an excuse to just walk up and talk like they were bros.

Kurt looked about as ridiculous as he usually looked. Black skinny jeans, a stupidly long red sweater, and a black hat. Puck was glad he'd trained himself out of rolling his eyes over all but the most absurd of Kurt's outfits, because otherwise his eye sockets would ache right now.

"Well, sorry for assuming that maybe the school's appalled and horrified reaction might have made you feel the slightest bit alienated, and for wanting to extend my hand- metaphorically, ugh, don't look at me like that, I am so not interested- by being a friend and showing you that I'm not whimpering in a corner in fear." Kurt rolled his eyes. "But whatever, if this somehow offends you, I have plenty of things I'd rather be doing right now."

Kurt started to turn and flounce off before Puck responded. "Hummel."

Stopping, Kurt glanced at him over his shoulder. "Yes, Puckerman?" His tone was droll, unimpressed, and, surprisingly enough, not bullshit. Kurt hadn't flinched during the entirety of his little speech, hadn't shown any signs of being any more afraid of Puck than he was on a daily basis- which, frankly, wasn't very afraid, considering how much time and effort Puck had put into tormenting him. Usually, Kurt seemed more annoyed than anything else. "Something you need?"

Puck clenched his jaw and looked to the side, pained. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to say to Kurt, except 'fuck you, people don't get to turn their back on me,' but after Kurt's mini-speech, it seemed lame to actually beat fear into the other teenager.

"Well?" Kurt snapped. "I've got class." He raised an eyebrow at Puck. "So do you, actually, if the roll-call Ms. Hampton gives at the beginning of the period is any indication."

Puck's eyes were narrow with irritation, but he dragged his feet so that he was standing next to Kurt. "Fine, whatever princess. But when all this 'bite-drama' dies down, we don't know each other. Got it?"

"Oh, thank you so much for bestowing me with your esteemed presence." Kurt was completely unamused, but he simply held his books to his chest and started doing that stupid little prance of his down the hall. Puck let out a breath before following after.

One day back, and he was stuck with Kurt Hummel, the world's only real-life Barbie doll (minus the tits, the waist, and anything that would make a real life Barbie attractive, plus a penis). Getting bit by a werewolf sucked.

 

It took about ten minutes before Puck remembered why he never went to class.

Instead of taking the seat that he normally took (normal being relative to how often he went to class to begin with), Puck ended up sitting in the middle, a seat diagonally behind Kurt. He'd come in with Kurt, after all. It seemed pathetic to sulk off to the back of the class, even if he did see several losers clear away from the back corner like a group of roaches when they saw him enter. When Mercedes came in, she threw Kurt and Puck both a confused look before taking the seat in front of Puck.

Kurt prompted him with a hiss when Ms. Hampton called Puck's name for attendance. Puck raised a hand, eliciting a fairly surprised noise from the teacher before she recovered and carried on with the roll-call. Puck threw Kurt an 'Are you happy?' look, which was completely lost, since Kurt had already turned back around to face the chalkboard.

Puck was completely lost the moment she said to open the book. Apparently, he'd guessed wrong, or maybe he'd grabbed the book they'd been reading at the start of the school year, because nothing made any sense to him. Something about symbolism, something about an evolving character arc, something about a plot resolution. All of it sounded too much like nerd words for him to even give a damn.

Glancing over at Kurt, it didn't seem like he cared much either. At first, Puck thought that Kurt was paying attention, his binder in his lap, circling and highlighting every so often. However, when Puck slouched back in his seat, he could make out the edges of a magazine poking out from the binder pages. About fifteen minutes in, Kurt pulled out his cellphone and started texting, checking the page of the magazine as he did.

On a hunch, Puck let a pen fall. He leaned over to pick it up and scoped out what Mercedes was doing. Sure enough, she was responding to a text, and flipping through her binder, where she was looking at the same magazine. Puck sat up and snorted in amusement. Freaks.

Kurt heard Puck, and threw him a look. Puck shrugged and folded his arms on the desk. Mystery of what Kurt was doing solved, Puck put his head down; he still had a half an hour's worth of nap to take, after all, and it wasn't as if anyone was going to wake him up.

He'd always been good at falling asleep in class. He'd conditioned himself to fall asleep the second his head touched the desk. He was pleased to find that that hadn't changed in the past week.

Normally, though, he was woken up by the sound of period bell. This time, he found himself awakening while Ms. Hampton was still droning on about character transformation, blinking in confusion as he wiped his mouth with his palm.

Something felt weird. He closed his eyes tight and opened them again, stretching and ignoring the disappointed look that Ms. Hampton threw at him. Whatever, it wasn't like he ever paid attention, and it wasn't like anyone sitting behind him was paying attention either. Hell, even Hummel, Miss Perfect GPA, wasn't paying any attention.

As if to get visual reconfirmation of that fact, Puck's eyes flicked over to Kurt's chair. Which was noticeably empty. His notebook was still there, closed. Puck narrowed his eyes in confusion, glancing forward at Mercedes as he sat back up fully. She was still texting and flipping through her magazine.

Puck rubbed his nose and shook his head, settling back in his seat. He just knew his nap was shot to all hell. He wasn't getting back to sleep now, at least not until his next class. The weirdness in the room made his muscles tense up, and he rolled his shoulders. Without thinking, he lifted his arm to massage his opposite shoulder. He winced; pressure on the scar caused hot pain to shoot down his shoulder blade, and he hissed. Stupid.

If getting bit meant he wasn't allowed to sleep during class, Puck was going to need to find someone to beat to make up for it.

Puck was sorely considering getting up and leaving when the door to the classroom opened. His head shot up as Kurt came back into the room and slid back into his seat. Puck looked at the other teenager warily before leaning into the aisle and poking him with a pencil.

Kurt damn near jumped. He turned his head quickly, throwing Puck a death glare while whispering, "What?"

"Where'd you go?" Puck questioned.

"Uh, the bathroom? Not that it's any of your business," Kurt pointed out, leveling the glare at Puck for a few seconds more before turning back around and going back to his magazine and texting.

Puck shrugged, sitting back in his seat, the knots in his shoulders already loosening.

 

Glee was actually been far less painful than Puck would have expected. Mr. Schue welcomed him back when he came in. Mike Chang gave him a 'welcome back' bro-hug, and Finn followed it up with an awkwardly delivered bro-hug (Puck would have rathered no hugs at all, but whatever, it was over with). Sam threw him a nod, and Artie waved happily.

Brit and Santana both gave him huge hugs that were inappropriately long. Even if Puck had to remind Brittany to back off his shoulder, it was totally worth it. Over Santana's shoulder, Quinn managed to throw him an actually pleasant, non-bitchy smile, which he threw right back at her. Apparently being in the hospital was the one thing that could make the Ice Bitch attitude melt and let Quinn and him get along again for awhile.

When the welcomes were done, Puck sat himself down in the back row, behind Kurt, Quinn, and Sam, and half-followed along with the songs until Glee was over.

He didn't get up right away, sitting back and texting. Santana wanted to see if getting bitten had any effect on Puck in bed, but they'd all known since like, seventh grade that there were no real symptoms of a bite until at least three weeks afterward, so she said she'd just leave him hanging for a little while.

He watched most of the club file out of the classroom without looking up from his phone, suppressing a gag at the sight of Quinn holding a hand out to Sam as they left the room. Mr. Schue made sure to throw out a 'If you need to talk at any point, Puck, I'll be in my office,' to which Puck just responded with a nod and a look that said exactly how likely it was that he'd be taking Mr. Schuester up on that offer.

Kurt and Brittany stayed behind afterward too. Puck wasn't listening, exactly, but they pulled out a few bottles of nail polish and started swooning, so he could only assume they were planning on having a girly playdate and were starting it right then and there.

They didn't start painting their nails right away, instead just checking out colors and looking through the magazine that Puck had seen Kurt with earlier. Puck forcibly ignored them; he was wasting time because he didn't feel up to going home, not because the choice between Lady's Night Shimmer and MegaPunk Pink was a vital one in his life. Still, they were irritatingly distracting, like when someone read a magazine with a picture of a hot chick as they sat down next to Puck on the bus, and he wanted to check it out (people got so uptight when he took the magazine).

"-when we go to Breadstix, Puck?"

Puck blinked. Brittany was talking to him, for some reason. He lifted his eyes, not his head, to look in her direction. "What?"

Kurt was looking mortified. "Oh. My. God. Puck, it wasn't important. I assure you."

Brittany looked confused. Shocker. "I just wanted to know if we needed to bring you dog treats when we all go out to Breadstix on Friday." Kurt was pinker than that MegaPunk Pink, looking as if he wanted to turn into a mouse and run through a crack in the wall.

Puck was just staring. He opened his mouth to respond, realized nothing came out, closed it, and then tried again. "No."

"I guess you'd be okay with the doggy bag then, right?"

"Brittany, shut up, please," Kurt begged her. He turned back to Puck, the look on his face clearly reminding Puck that this was Brittany Pierce they were talking about, and that he really shouldn't take it to heart. Puck knew because he'd gotten this look from a few different Glee club members a few different times.

Brittany was so lucky she was hot and slutty.

"Hey Brit?" Puck started, his tone lighter and more nonchalant than he actually felt.

"Yeah?"

"When we go to Breadstix, I'm going to order a huge steak and pasta meal, and I'm probably going to steal food off of some of you losers, like I always do." Then he paused, and frowned. "When are we going to Breadstixs, anyway?"

Kurt sighed, redirecting his attention again to the nail polishes in front of him. "Friday. Apparently Mr. Schue thinks we all deserve it for working so hard recently. Personally, I think he's just doing it because he feels..." Kurt stopped, shrugged awkwardly. "Bad about your current predicament, but thinks it would be wholly inappropriate to only treat you to Breadstix. Which, frankly, I agree with, and I'm not one to complain about a free trip to Breadstix."

Brittany smiled. "Santana's super excited. She said she's going to eat more than Tina's weight in breadsticks this time."

"Huh." Puck said. "Cool." Free meals? Had he known all he had to do to get Mr. Schue to treat them to Breadstix was risk getting mauled, he would have done this ages ago.

Puck was still trying, via text, to convince Santana that waiting and seeing was lame. She wasn't relenting, instead offering up all the things she planned on doing to him when the three weeks were up. Which, while encouraging, didn't do him any favors. So he started playing Tetris instead.

"Okay, I think you need to try this one, Brit," Kurt announced. Puck caught sight of the nail polish, some super girly pale pink thing that reminded Puck of the color his mom had wanted to paint his sister's room. "Diva Pearls. It's perfect for the dress."

Brittany's smile widened. "You always pick the pretty colors." Puck felt he deserved a pat on the back for not laughing. She lifted her hand, spreading her fingers. "Paint me?"

"Of course," Kurt answered, rolling his eyes. She put her hands on Kurt's knee as he opened the nail polish and started to do her nails.

Puck wrinkled his nose. "That stuff stinks, Hummel. Open a window."

"Oh, hush," Kurt tsked dismissively. "No one is making you sit here and smell it. Why don't you run off to do your little Neanderthal thing somewhere? I hear there's probably a wall without the required caveman drawings on them?"

It was as if Puck had needed a reminder he could move, because as soon as Kurt finished speaking, he snapped his phone shut and put it in his pocket. He snorted, shaking his head. "What happened to the whole supportive nonsense you were spouting earlier?"

"Oh, it's still in effect," Kurt assured him, not looking up from Brittany's nails. "But it's officially after school, and it's officially girl time, so unless you want to try the new Gunmetal Grey I picked up, it's probably best for everyone involved if you go home and get some sleep." There was a pause, and then, more gently, "You know, take care of yourself?"

Puck rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I'm outtie."

Brittany waved. With the hand that Kurt had been painting, which left Kurt groaning in irritation. "See you later Puck! I'll totally bring you a chew toy tomorrow, okay?"

Puck didn't bother responding.

 

Puck wasn't late to Breadstix, but a few of the club members were already there by the time he arrived. He glanced around at the possible seating options: Mercedes, Tina, and Mike were at one table, and the Cheerios and Sam were already filling in a booth across from them. Which blew, because Puck had wanted to drag Artie over to sit with Brittany and Santana again, but if that was the way they were going to do things, whatever.

He placed himself in the table behind Mercedes, kicking his legs up so that no one would sit in the chair directly next to him. He was quickly joined by Rachel and Finn, who quickly became the two most boring people to share a table with. To be fair, they weren't bad apart; Finn was his bro, and Puck could usually space out and stare at Rachel's chest when Finn wasn't there because Rachel never noticed when he did that.

He ordered the biggest meal on the menu when the waitress came by. Rachel ordered a salad, which got him in a debate with her over whether or not it was a waste of a free trip to Breadstix if you weren't buying the most expensive thing that you could.

It got less irritating when Artie finally arrived. Puck moved his feet off the chair so they could move the chair out of the way and let Artie sit. Rachel threw him a confused look. Whatever, Puck had a perfectly legitimate reason for blocking the seat, so he really didn't appreciate the look. With Artie there, Puck started animatedly telling the table about the pros and cons of TPing vs Silly String. He was pretty sure that Artie was only putting up with it to be polite.

The meals didn't get to the table until the conversation had switched over to what the coolest video game Easter Eggs of all time were (to the chagrin of Rachel). The second the smell of his meal hit Puck's nose, his stomach rumbled. It had to have been loud, because Rachel and Artie both gave him vaguely alarmed looks, to which he shrugged before diving in to the meal.

"Hey Kurt!" Mercedes was saying behind him. Puck glanced over his shoulder automatically, throwing Kurt- who was what, like thirty minutes late or something?- a nod before turning back to the plate. It was weird; everything smelled great, but the taste wasn't living up to it. It didn't matter, because Puck was hungry as hell and would have eaten one of Brittany's threatened dog treats if they'd put it on a plate in front of him. "What took you so long, boy?"

Kurt sighed the sigh of someone long-tormented. "Couldn't find the hat I wanted to wear. Took me a good forty minutes to completely rethink this outfit."

"Seriously?" Puck found himself saying from around a mouth of food. "You nearly missed Breadstix over a hat?"

Kurt, who had taken a seat next to Mercedes and was therefore directly behind Puck, turned to face him, resting an arm on the back of his chair. "If you must know, it's a very expensive knit hat. I didn't even get to find it. Ugh, Carol probably accidentally put it in Finn's laundry again. I told her it doesn't go in with the regular load, but does she listen? No." Kurt's eyes flicked over to Finn. "No offense to Carol."

Finn looked confused. "Didn't think you meant any."

Puck didn't actually care about the hat, the laundry, or Finn's mom. "Dude. Breadstix."

"Puck," Kurt said, blatantly mimicking Puck's tone, "I can survive if I have to buy my own Breadstix meal. It's not the end of the world."

"That's weak," Puck declared. "I don't even pay here, and I know you always make sure to be there if someone else is paying." Kurt rolled his eyes and turned back to his table, starting another conversation with Tina and Mercedes.

Puck turned back to his meal, quickly devouring most of it. Breadstix must have hired a new cook or something. He'd always been a fan of the steak and pasta meals, but something about this smelled different, and he couldn't put a finger on what it was. Not that he was trying that hard.

Rachel might've commented on his eating habits. He ignored it and ordered some more food the next time the waiter came over.

"...was thinking the Caesar salad, actually, with a soup on the side..." Kurt sounded indecisive. Puck didn't turn around, even though he was tempted, just to mock Kurt about the fact that he was pretty much ordering the same thing as Rachel. Which, he knew from personal experience, was a great way to irritate the smaller teenager.

But he was done with his food, and Rachel had roped his table mates into a discussion about vocal warm-ups that only Artie seemed remotely interested in (and again, it might have been Artie just being nice). Which left Puck bored until he had more food.

He slouched back in his seat, engaging himself with the age-old five-year-old-kid activity of tipping his chair back just enough so that it didn't fall backwards, and then sitting up, and then doing it again. The second attempt, though, Rachel sharply scolded him, reminding him they that were in public. He rolled his eyes and sat back up, tapping out a beat absent-mindedly on the edge of the table.

He'd never had a problem expressing his boredom outwardly. Most people considered it rude; Puck considered it pretty rude too, but at least he was being straightforward and honest. So when the conversation became absolutely mind-numbing for him, he groaned, closing his eyes and dropping his head back as if he were going to fall asleep.

The scent filled his nose again, and again, as if he hadn't just eaten an entire plate of food, his stomach rumbled. This time, though, instead of sitting straight up and waiting for the plate to be put in front of him, he kept his eyes closed. Just focused on the smell as it drifted his way. If he was the type to cook, he'd totally ask what it was that they'd done this time around, because the smell was practically short-circuiting his brain. It sure as hell was short-circuiting his stomach.

Puck found himself taking long, deep breaths of the scent. It washed over him; he even shuddered from it for a moment. For a minute he was totally able to understand those weirdoes with food fetishes, because-

"Puck, what the hell kind of noise are you making?" Kurt's voice jolted Puck out of it, his eyes snapping open.

He shook his head, sitting up as if he'd been shocked. "What?"

"Did you seriously fall asleep at the table?" When Puck turned to face Kurt, he realized that that entire table was staring at him. He just blinked back at them, confused. "You were..." Kurt practically whispered his next word, "...growling in your sleep, Puckerman."

"Huh...no I wasn't," Puck answered slowly. "I wasn't asleep, and I wasn't growling. My stomach-"

"That wasn't your stomach, honey," Mercedes said, looking equal parts weirded-out and pitying.

Puck didn't need pity, or the disturbed look on Kurt's face, or the worried glances that Mike and Tina were throwing at each other. His face twisted up in annoyance. "Whatever, back off. Don't you freaks have, like, lettuce and twigs to snack on or something?"

Kurt looked taken aback by the snap for a moment before recovering and looking like he expected nothing better. He shrugged. "If you say so, Puck." Then he smiled a bitchy smile to rival Quinn on her best day. "But I know what I heard, and maybe you shouldn't go throwing around the word 'freak' right now, huh?"

Couldn't Kurt have been like everybody else at McKinley and been at all scared? Just so he wouldn't make stupid comments like that? Puck chewed on the inside of his lip and turned back to his own table. Where he had three people looking at him with varying levels of shock, confusion, fear, and curiosity.

"What?" Puck snapped. They quickly changed the topic and pretended like nothing happened. Puck scowled and looked around. Where the hell was his meal? He wasn't crazy, so he knew he hadn't imagined the smell, but his plate wasn't in front of him, and the waiter definitely wasn't on her geriatric way over. So what was up?

He continued to scowl until his plate was in front of him, relieved that he could focus on eating, but disappointed that this one didn't smell quite the same. The smell was there, but it wasn't as strong, or maybe he'd just grown used to it or something. It still didn't explain why he thought he'd smelled it moments earlier. He convinced himself that someone else must have ordered the same thing as he did, and a waiter had served it to a nearby table.

Fortunately, Mr. Schuester must have felt really bad for Puck, because he didn't give Puck crap for ordering three plates and two desserts. He simply paid for everyone and gave them all congratulations for their hard work so far, convinced they'd win, blah blah blah, Puck stopped paying attention because he was busy finishing up some apple crumb cake.

He pushed his seat out to stand up, not realizing he was getting up at the same time as Kurt behind him. This meant that they both stood up and hit each other's backs. They both turned at the same time to face each other- Puck to go 'what the fuck's your problem, dude', and Kurt to apologize politely, but they were still far too close to each other, to the point where Puck was hovering over Kurt, looking down at him.

And there it was again. His mind was playing tricks on him, because there the scent was again, so strong it stuck to the back of his throat. He froze at its intensity, its closeness. He swallowed, licked his lips. Remained very still for a moment.

And that wasn't awkward. "Uh, Puck? If we're going to leave, you kind of have to move out of my way." Kurt's voice was as patient as it could be, considering how very close Puck was at the moment. "I know you're a consummate mouthbreather and all that, but could you kindly huff air at least three feet back?"

Puck took another quick breath in through his nose, confirming for another time that, no, it wasn't a plate of deliciously seasoned meat, but Kurt Hummel's...body wash? Cologne? Something.

He turned away, quickly. "Sorry, bro." He blinked a few times, leaning on the chair he'd just stood up from. The smell still lingered, but it wasn't as overwhelming now that he wasn't practically pressed against Kurt.

There was that noise again. And even Puck knew that it wasn't his stomach this time.

There wasn't enough Natty Light in the world for this.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Avoiding Kurt. Talking to Schue. Failing at avoiding Kurt, really badly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter contains explicit masturbation

Puck had never been one to avoid someone, but he'd sure as hell been doing just that for the past few days. He spent most of his time ditching his and Kurt's shared classes and snoozing in the nurse's office instead. It really wasn't tough for Puck to play up the pain in his shoulder, since by second period, he wasn't really playing it up. The muscles would knot up painfully, bite marks smoldering with a feverish heat that made him wonder if the damn thing was infected.  
  
The nurse assured him, after examining it, that it wasn't infected; on the contrary, it was healing up quite well. Puck understood what she meant when she coughed before saying 'quite well.' It didn't take a genius to see how creeped out she was.  
  
But still, when he wasn't asking questions about the scarring, the nurse left him alone. Her office was still the ideal spot to ditch class in, and with all the weirdness, that was a comfort.  
  
He didn't skip Glee, instead choosing to be extra careful  _not_  to sit anywhere near Kurt. It wasn't the first time he'd decided to sit off to the side, away from the rest of the club, so no one gave him any crap. And Puck was close enough to the back wall that Kurt didn't even pass in front of him when he got up to perform his weekly assignment.  
  
Puck pretended not to watch Kurt's performance, flipping open his phone and playing Tetris instead. He focused so hard on  _not_  focusing on Kurt that he kept losing.  
  
The problem was, now that he'd recognized that the mouthwatering smell from Breadstix  _was Kurt_ , it was difficult  _not_  to notice it. Even though Puck made a beeline for the door the second Glee Club was over, he caught a whiff of that scent as he passed Kurt and Mercedes' little pow-wow and it was all he could do not to turn back around and linger for just a moment.  
  
He headed straight for the bathroom instead, flinging his backpack against the wall. The two guys in there took one look at him and made a quick exit. At least  _that_  hadn't changed.  
  
The bathroom reeked compared to the rest of the school (except, of course, in the parking lot by the dumpsters, where the garbage and exhaust smells twisted around each other and made Puck's stomach lurch), but at least the stench didn't smell like Kurt. It was easier to think clearly, to take a breath and relax.  
  
He paced for a minute, quickly at first, then slowing as he forced himself to breathe deep, to calm down. It didn't really work, not one hundred percent, but it worked well enough that he could splash his face with water and feel less completely freaked out about himself for half a second. Another splash and he felt almost normal.  
  
He straightened out his shirt before grabbing his backpack. A quick look in the mirror to make sure he didn't look like crap, and he was back in the hallways of McKinley, ready to get home and play Halo until he forgot about all of this.  
  
He got to the parking lot, nose wrinkling with distaste at its odor as he made his way towards the bus stop.  
  
He would have made it, too, if he hadn't caught sight of Kurt surrounded by three of his teammates. Puck wasn't about to step in; it wasn't his style, and maybe Kurt needed a good dumpster toss to wipe that twenty-four-seven cocky little look off his face, but Puck wasn't about to  _leave_  either.  
  
Puck kept his breathing steady and through his mouth. He figured he probably looked like he was doing some stupid meditation thing, but he didn't really care. It wasn't like anyone would  _say_  anything about it to his face.  
  
Puck had seen this dance before, had been part of it enough times to predict its choreography. Kurt bitched and moaned, the jocks laughed and shoved him around. Kurt refused to beg them not to, simply putting his coat to the side before standing there expectantly. Hummel didn't really try to fight back; Puck had heard him say something along the lines of not wanting to give 'those losers' the satisfaction. Another time, he'd heard Kurt say that it was easier to clean banana mush out of a jacket than to repair the tears if he got his ass kicked.  
  
One of the guys could have easily lifted Kurt and dropped him in with one quick go. This time, and most other times, it was more fun to have one guy take Kurt's legs, the other take his hands, and swing him into the dumpster. It was more humiliating that way.  
  
Puck felt the muscles in his shoulders and arms tense up again, and a part of him seriously considered going over there for a minute and shutting the show down. He felt that still-disconcerting rumble of a growl building up in his throat, an uglier sound than the contented ones he'd let slip at Breadstix. His fingers twitched.  
  
But before he could interfere, his teammates were done. They cleared out, laughing and high-fiving over a job well done. Puck cursed under his breath as his feet walked him towards the dumpster instead of straight ahead to the bus stop. So much for that.  
  
He peered over the dumpster's edge to find Kurt just laying there, counting. "What the hell are you doing?"  
  
"Counting."  
  
"Yeah, I got that, thanks. Why?"  
  
"It usually takes you lot an average of thirty seconds to lumber off after dumping me in one of these," Kurt explained, still staring up at the sky. "If I wait, then your buddies won't be around to decide to put me back in." There was no sadness to his voice, simply resignation.  
  
And resignation made torment  _way_  more boring than it should have been. Puck sighed, glancing behind him to make sure no one was looking, and reached a hand in. "Hurry up." Kurt's gaze snapped to meet Puck's, his expression stupid with shock, and Puck glared. "You want help or not? Because I can ditch you right now."  
  
Kurt took hold of Puck's arm warily, keeping a suspicious look trained on Puck while Puck helped him out of the trash. "...Thanks, Puckerman..."  
  
"Whatever. Don't mention it." Puck shoved a hand in his pocket. And stood there, awkwardly.  
  
Kurt, however, was completely distracted when he looked over at where he'd folded his coat over the side of the dumpster. He lifted a piece of fabric from it, groaning. On a second look, Puck realized it was the fruity little purple and black scarf Kurt had been sporting earlier. "Of  _course_  they ripped it. It's not like this isn't an amazing accessory or anything, it isn't like it's obviously expensive and should be treated with care..." He made an exasperated noise. "Another piece of my wardrobe ruined." He tossed it aside, where it fluttered back onto the edge of the dumpster. "Whatever," he continued, clearly trying to comfort himself. "It was last season anyway."  
  
"Can't you just get another scarf?" Puck said, although the tone was a lot less helpful than the question.  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes. "I don't exactly expect a guy who thinks sweatshirts are the height of fashion to understand the importance of a designer scarf." He paused, and then offered, "But I do appreciate your help, regardless." Puck looked even less comfortable with this thanks than the earlier one. Kurt brushed his hair to the side. "I suppose I should be equally helpful. Do you need a ride home?"  
  
That sounded like a terrible idea, even if Puck's first instinct was to take him up on the offer. But that scent rolling off Kurt, concentrated in a small, sealed space? Puck wasn't going to take the bait. Even now his scent distracted Puck, even mitigated by the horrible smell of the dumpsters, making him feel way more awkward than any badass should ever admit to feeling.  
  
Puck shook his head. "Nah, I'm cool. Bus'll be here in a minute."  
  
"Oh, well...all right then." Kurt's tone was suddenly as awkward as Puck felt, as if they were both wondering what the hell was going on. Puck looked away first, his eyes falling on that torn scarf, which seemed like a safer thing to stare at than Kurt right now. "I'm gonna get going."  
  
"Okay."  
  
"I'll see you in class tomorrow, I suppose... f you show up, that is." Kurt tried to add a touch of humor to his voice, but there was still too much trepidation to make it ring true. Without attempting further niceties, Kurt shrugged his jacket back on, grabbed his bag, and lifted his hand in a delicate little wave goodbye as he headed off to his car.  
  
Puck let out a breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding. He stood there for a moment, not even noticing when he grabbed the abandoned scarf and wrapped it around his hand a couple of times.  
  
The bus pulled up to its stop, and Puck cursed, shoving his hand in his jacket pocket before jogging over to the bus' opening doors.  
  
  
  
  
Practice was getting easier.  
  
Puck had taken a few days off of practice when he'd returned to school, due to his shoulder still hurting him pretty badly. By about half way through his second week back, though, the shoulder wasn't a problem at all; the 'scarring' was just a thin jagged line along his collar bone, and he could move his arm without pain. And, well, practice took his mind off of Kurt and his stupid scent.  
  
Coach Beiste had taken him aside and given him the option to take it easy the first couple of days, but Puck wasn't particularly interested in taking it easy. His body was wound up enough that he needed to be doing  _something_  with it, and Santana was still holding out on him. A couple of the guys on the team tried to argue that, after getting attacked, Puck shouldn't be on the field. Beiste let them bullshit for all of a minute before she barked at them to shut up and get ready. She nodded at Puck and told him to get his ass on the field too.  
  
Puck grinned and did what he was told.  
  
It didn't take long to prove that Puck's shoulder wasn't going to get in the way of his playing. It wasn't even a question of him keeping up with the team, honestly; he was pulling far more than his own weight. And it felt  _good_ , too, a nice relief from having spent every night since the attack either stuck in a hospital bed or alone in his bedroom.  
  
Stretching his limbs felt great. Slamming into Sam Evans full-force and knocking him the fuck down felt even better.  
  
After practice was done, Coach Beiste took him to the side again, this time giving him a hard slap on the back and telling him he looked good out there. Better than usual. Puck smiled at the compliment, knowing Beiste didn't just toss out compliments like cookies or something, and hit the showers.  
  
A few of his team members threw him hesitant glances, but Puck ignored them. It was easy enough, considering even Sam (stupid, sorry bastard) wasn't giving Puck crap about the hit out on the field. Puck wondered if Quinn had explained things to the new kid- not about his history with Quinn, but about Lima and why Puck had been in the hospital. If Sam believed it.  
  
Well, whether or not he believed it, Puck hoped that Sam was smart enough to just go with it and stay at home at night.  
  
Puck lingered in the showers, mainly because the rushing water distracted from the smell of several dozen sweaty and dirty teenaged guys, clean enough not to embarrass themselves before they got home. One of the guys tried to give Puck crap for it; still hyped up on practice adrenaline, Puck was pretty sure he literally growled at him.  
  
Which was fine, because the dude was a punk who couldn't catch a ball if Puck handed it to him.  
  
Most of the locker room cleared out before Puck was done in the shower. He got dressed and sat down to put his sneakers back on.  
  
The door opened, and Puck's head shot up. Mr. Schuester poked his head in. "Hey, Puck. Got a minute?"  
  
Puck shrugged. It wasn't like he was in a rush to go anywhere. "What up, Mr. Schue?"  
  
Mr. Schuester came into the locker room, closing the door behind him. After a moment, he walked over to sit on the bench next to Puck. Puck moved over to give them both space without feeling uncomfortable. "Just wanted to check in with you, make sure you were handling everything all right."  
  
Puck snorted, shrugging. "Dude, I'm fine. It's just practice."  
  
"That wasn't what I meant," Mr. Schuester chuckled, shaking his head. "But I talked to Coach Beiste. She said you did well today."  
  
"It was one practice." Puck rolled his eyes. "It wasn't all that hard." And he'd tried to make it difficult. Throwing himself into practice like he usually did hadn't been a challenge, so he'd pushed harder. Still nothing. It felt good, yeah, but it wasn't exactly tough to do.  
  
"Oh, I know that," Mr. Schuester assured him. "And I know you're tough, you can handle it." He patted Puck on the back, an action that made Puck tense for a moment, just for the unexpectedness of it. Mr. Schuester caught the action and held his hands up with a smile. "Sorry, sorry."  
  
Puck shrugged again. "Whatever, it's no thing." Anyway, it felt weirdly nice, having Mr. Schuester check up on him. He knew that other club members went to Mr. Schue's office or stayed after Glee to talk to him, but that wasn't Puck's style. He didn't go anywhere and share his feelings like some sort of loser; he had better things to do with himself. That didn't mean it didn't feel nice to have someone else  _ask_.  
  
"Heard Sam say you nearly pulled his arm out of its socket," Mr. Schuester remarked.  
  
Groaning, Puck stood up. "Is  _that_  why you're talking to me?" The nice moment was effectively shattered. "Because dude, I didn't do it on purpose. It's  _football_  practice, that's what  _happens_ , and I'm not apologizing to the new kid because he can't handle it." Puck slouched against a locker, crossing his arms over his chest.  
  
"No, no, that's not what I meant, Puck," Mr. Schuester explained. "This isn't about Sam."  
  
Puck frowned. "I apologized to Randy for the thing with his leg. Didn't realize how hard I hit him." Puck rolled his neck.  
  
Mr. Schuester sighed, shaking his head. "Look, I know you had the same talk given to you in middle school that I did." Puck sighed; he really didn't want a speech. "I'm not going to go on forever or anything, but I know you have to remember the list of changes that they explained to you. It was drilled into my head too."  
  
Puck rolled his eyes. "Yeah, your point?"  
  
"After getting bitten, people get a lot  _stronger_." Mr. Schuester put a very deliberate emphasis on his words. "Faster. It's probably something you want to keep in mind out on the field, while you're re-learning what you're capable of."  
  
Puck blinked. Useful advice from Mr. Schuester? Since when did Puck ever hear  _that_? He frowned at Mr. Schuester suspiciously. "All right..."  
  
Mr. Schuester nodded. "Good. And if you ever need to talk or anything, you know I'm around." He stood up, flicking some lint off his slacks as he stood up. "I know Miss Pillsbury has some literature about changing in her office, if you wanted to check that out." Puck snorted. "And if there's anything I can do in Glee..."  
  
"I get it, Mr. Schue. You wanna help." Puck pushed himself off the locker. "I think I've got it."  
  
With a long, wary look, Mr. Schuester sighed and made his way to the door. "I'll see you in class, Puck."  
  
The door to the locker room swung shut behind Mr. Schuester, briskly for a few seconds before slowing to a creaky stop. Puck let out a breath, closing his eyes.  
  
He still wasn't going to apologize to Sam.  
  
  
  
  
Puck's mom and sister were out of the house when he got home. He called out to his mom to check that she wasn't there; when he was satisfied he was alone, he tossed his backpack on the couch and went into the kitchen. He was always hungry after practice, and the couple of slices of pizza he'd picked up before getting on the bus home hadn't done much of anything for him. So he put together a sandwich and made his way back to his room.  
  
He put the plate down on his nightstand and was about to sit down and eat it when he caught sight of himself in the mirror. He paused, staring back at his reflection as his thoughts drifted to what Mr. Schuester had said in the locker room. Shrugging off his jacket, he stood up and walked over to the mirror.  
  
Well, he thought to himself as he pulled off his shirt, he didn't  _look_  any different. Noah Puckerman had spent a good deal of his life staring at himself shirtless in a mirror. He knew what to expect. Nothing there was different; he even leaned in close to get a good look at his eyes, to see if they'd done any of that weird, freaky crap werewolf eyes sometimes did in the movies. Zip, zilch, nada.  
  
Normal.  
  
But did he feel different? That was a different can of worms altogether, the sort of question that left Puck feeling irritable and confused. Which should have been an answer in itself, but the answer wasn't satisfying. Did he feel different? He felt pent up, that was for sure, but he hadn't been dishing out his standard amounts of torment to lowerclassmen due to a sheer lack of time, so maybe that was it. He did feel a little better after practice, but even that minimal amount of relaxation was fading. He felt back to being ready to jump out of his skin again.  
  
There were other issues, too. The hallways, for one, were way too loud nowadays; Puck was pretty sure he could hear ben Israel's obnoxious cellphone conversations with his mom from down the hallway. He was considering getting earplugs for Glee Club, because on the rare occasion that someone didn't quite hit that note, Puck's ears felt like they were going to bleed.  
  
And then there were the smells...that was the most difficult part. Smells that used to just annoy him drove him to a frustrated, sickened distraction. Brittany had tried a new perfume yesterday, and even though Puck had been across the room, he'd nearly barfed all over the place. Every time Puck passed Quinn, he could smell Sam on her; not as bad as Rachel and Finn, maybe, but enough to make him grimace.  
  
Puck wasn't going to think about Kurt Hummel's scent and what  _that_  was doing to him. He refused to even consider how he wanted to move in close to the little queen and just bury his nose in that scent, because Puck  _wasn't_  gay, and definitely wasn't gay enough to want to do something that weird. Even if he'd taken to biting down hard on the inside of his lip, hard enough to draw blood, just to  _distract_  himself.  
  
Puck made a face at his reflection. He  _really_  didn't want to be thinking about that right now, so he turned away and plopped down heavily on his bed. His first thought was that he'd sat down on a misplaced sock, but when he got up to check, he realized he'd sat on something that was halfway falling out of his jacket pocket. He frowned and pulled the offending item all the way out for inspection.  
  
It took him a moment to remember what it was: Kurt Hummel's purple and black scarf from the other day. Puck barely remembered picking it up and didn't even  _want_  to know why he still had it. Even as he wound it around his hand and unwound it, he was moving to throw it away.  
  
He nearly did it too, but God, if it didn't smell like Hummel, if every inch of the stupid fabric didn't make Puck want to stop and breathe it in like some sort of creepo stalker from a bad thriller movie. Puck grimaced at his behavior -- no, not at his behavior, because he wasn't doing anything. He was just standing there. Holding a scarf. Nothing weird about that.  
  
But when he took a deep breath, then it  _did_  get weird. He closed his eyes, and all the other mundane smells faded away as he focused on the one, singular scent that still clung to the silky fabric. A scent that didn't require his whole attention- because it hovered in the air around Hummel, around Hummel's things- but begged for it anyway, forcibly took it at the most inconvenient and frustrating moments.  
  
His fist clenched around the fabric in his hand as he cursed himself. "Get a grip," he grumbled to himself, slowly opening his fingers with the full intention of tossing it out, maybe taking the trash downstairs for good measure.  
  
Except that it was so easy to just stare at it instead. To swallow the lump in his throat and consider lifting the cloth up to his face and letting the scent surround him, just for a moment. It wouldn't be nearly as satisfying as it had been at Breadstix, it wouldn't be the same as having Hummel right there to sniff and inhale, but it was better than being in the room without Hummel's scent.  
  
Puck knew that he was making excuses. Even as he double-checked that his door was closed, locked, and leaned up against it. Even as he wound the scarf around his hand again, tight enough to hurt this time. The scarf, torn and discarded, probably cost more than the outfit Puck had worn to school. Hummel always flaunted ridiculously expensive crap like that around; it was part of the reason Puck had always hated him, apart from the obvious. It was funny how that delicious scent made it difficult to remember exactly how much Puck used to want to shove Kurt's head in the trash or whatever.  
  
His thoughts drifted to when he'd helped Hummel out of the dumpster, to Hummel's startled expression and awkward gratitude. To the way that his scent was still, amazingly, untinged with fear, even after having just been dumpster dropped. None of the painfully intrusive scents crowding the parking lot had managed to lessen the intensity of how Hummel smelled to him.  
  
Puck didn't notice or care when he slouched back against the door, lifted the scarf to his nose and inhaled, a low, rumbling growl of pleasure rolling its way out of his throat. He shuddered at the sudden strength of it, at the difference between just holding the scarf and totally saying screw it and letting the scent block out the room, the house, the sounds and the sights. He closed his eyes, breathing slow breath after slow breath. Hummel's scent was strong enough to stick to the back of his mouth, to fill up his head to the point of dizziness. His body reacted almost immediately; his dick strained against his jeans, so hard and so suddenly that Puck didn't even process as he unzipped his pants.  
  
He remembered Hummel's offer to drive him home. He imagined having accepted it. The thought of sitting in Kurt Hummel's car, surrounded by that smell of his, his scent against that leather interior, sent a shiver up Puck's spine that was unmistakable. That close, Puck wasn't even sure what he would have done, what he would have wanted to do. All he knew was that he needed that scent, needed it close and hot and alive, that vibrant heady mix of skin and lotion and  _Hummel_.  
  
The scarf still bunched up against his nose, he didn't register pulling out his dick and starting to stroke it, slow and steady movements that were in time with every inhale and exhale.  
  
He didn't fantasize about sex. He just imagined Hummel's slightness beneath him, imagined his face buried against Hummel's collarbone as he absorbed that scent. Hummel tilting his head for it, panting underneath him. Sniffing Hummel, letting himself drag his teeth along Hummel's neck, tasting him instead of  _just_  smelling him.  
  
Puck moaned, growled, breathed as he kept going. Every time he breathed in Hummel's scent off the scarf, he imagined  _always_  being able to smell it,  _always_ knowing that scent was near at hand, whenever he wanted more of it.  
  
That scent that made him stupidly follow Kurt when he spoke (going to class, trailing the guy like a puppy dog).  
  
That scent, its absence as notable as its presence even if it was only gone for a moment (waking him up during class).  
  
That made him linger in classrooms long after he should have left.  
  
Made him completely forget where he was when it got close.  
  
That turned his feet towards a dumpster instead of his bus stop, turned him protective, stupid, animal. Animal in a way that Puck could get used to, that he hated, that felt like it could become second nature. Puck's growls became lust-filled grunts that rumbled every so often. He clenched his jaw, wanting badly to just bite into that scent and never let go. His hand picked up speed.  
  
He didn't remember who had dumpstered Kurt today, but if he tried, he bet he could smell them on Kurt. Pick out the wrong scents and hunt them down. Tear them apart for even attempting to interfere with that scent for just a second. He could do it, he didn't know  _how_  he knew it, but he was sure of it, and  _damn_  if the scent of Kurt Hummel wasn't pounding its way through his head and his blood, blocking out anything other than pure  _instinct_  without any of the usual bullshit hesitation that he hadn't even noticed was usually bothering him.  
  
His hand sped up even more. He was breathing hard, he was so  _close_ , and all he could think was that he wanted  _more_. More of that smell, more of Hummel, more of this strange dizzy and simple lightness in his head.  
  
When Puck came, his legs nearly buckled completely underneath him, his body tensing as the hand around the scarf tightened. He shook, and the growl that escaped him was far from human.  
  
He lowered and unwound the scarf, dropped it to the floor. Almost as soon as he came, the lightness in his head receded, and the realization of what he'd just done began to creep into his head. He tried to calm his breathing, wiping his hand on his jeans before turning to his side and leaning there on the wall, slowly opening his eyes.  
  
Puck's gaze fell to the scarf at his feet, wide and alarmed. "No  _fucking_  way."  
  
He didn't say anything else as he walked past the scarf and started to clean himself up for bed. Couldn't. Didn't dare. There were probably healthier ways to deal with the fact that he'd just jacked off to the inexplicably enticing scent of his gay classmate, but fuck it. Nope. Not doing it.  
  
He caught sight of himself in the mirror again. For a moment, just a quick second, he swore that the eyes staring back at him weren't the hazel ones he was used to, but deep, animal pools of amber. It was the first time he'd ever recoiled from his own reflection, and he wasn't sure if it was going to be the last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guidance counseling, advice from Kurt, and pissing Santana off. So a day that ends in Y.

_That Time Of The Month: A Werewolf's First Full Moon_  
  
 _Mauling at the Mall: A Cautionary Tale_  
  
 _My Hairs Down There Are Now Everywhere! Common Concerns For New Werewolves_  
  
 _Growling in Public and Other Wolf Faux Pas: Five Easy Tips to Avoid Embarrassing Yourself and Others_  
  
 _Public Urination is a Crime: Controlling Territorialism in New Wolves_  
  
 _Furries and You_  
  
That last one, as it turned out, had nothing to do with what Puck was looking for, and both he and Miss Pillsbury looked more than a little awkward when they flipped it open. They'd both, silently, agreed to put it to the side, and not speak about it any further.  
  
Not that they spoke very much during the meeting. Miss Pillsbury mostly fluttered about, pruning her desk plant, while Puck rifled through the fliers she had. He didn't really want to ask why there were so  _many_  fliers. While werewolves were around, there couldn't be _that_ many; there hadn't been that many since Puck's parents were growing up.  
  
Aside from Puck, no one really knew who the other werewolves in town  _were_  anymore, since it wasn't guaranteed to travel down the family line. And the only reason anyone knew about Puck was his stupidity.  
  
But maybe that was why half of the pamphlets were completely outdated, with ridiculous drawings of hippie werewolves throwing up peace signs.  
  
Puck always hated having to read. He  _really_  hated reading stupid pamphlets that recommended "putting on your favorite cassette tape" as a legitimate way to curb his temper near a full moon. Or had additional headings like, "But What If I'm A Vegetarian?" Still, it wasn't like he had a lot of other options here- he knew, he'd Googled 'werewolf' and just got a bunch of craziness that didn't sound like anything he was going through.  
  
Miss Pillsbury didn't have much help to offer herself, aside from assuring him that he was always welcome to come in, and could he please stop trying to put his feet up on the desk. Considering how often students came in and out of her office, the place was surprisingly devoid of scent, save for an acrid cleaning solution which might well have overpowered anything else.  
  
So Puck fidgeted and tried to focus on the pamphlets in front of him. Mostly, he got a checklist of things he had to worry about, instead of what he really wanted: a way to make all of it  _stop_. It was frustrating, to the point where  _Growling in Public and Other Wolf Faux Pas_  wound up crumpled in a ball in his hand and nearly hurled across the office. The only reason he didn't was because he realized that he was either exhibiting signs of Faux Pas number three- irrational temper as it got closer to the full moon- or he was being really immature about the whole thing.  
  
That, and when she heard the flyer crinkle plaintively in his clenched fist, Miss Pillsbury sincerely looked like someone had threatened to murder a kitten in front of her.  
  
Miss Pillsbury told him he was more than welcome to take copies of the pamphlets home, and even though he didn't think he'd need any of them, he shoved them all into his backpack and nodded shortly at her. She gave him the 'my door's always open- oh, oh, careful not to scratch that!' speech as he left.  
  
He smelled Kurt before he saw the teenager coming down the hallway. Puck spat out a curse, already feeling what he could figure out  _now_  were the effects of Kurt's scent on him. His shoulders unknotted themselves, and he had to make a concerted effort not to let his eyes fall shut. His body turned towards the scent of its own accord.  
  
Not. Cool.  
  
Kurt's face was dark with irritation, and he was doing that little princess speed walk that, for years, made Puck want to reach out with a foot and trip him when he did it. Today it just looked like overdramatic silliness, even if Kurt's face was utterly serious.  
  
Still, Kurt stopped, blinked, and hesitated when he saw Puck coming out of Miss Pillsbury's office, fortunately still more than a foot away from Puck. "Puck? What are you doing here?"  
  
Puck shrugged, rolling his eyes. Playing as if he wasn't remembering that he'd spent last night jacking off to the way this guy smelled, like he didn't want to push Kurt back against one of the lockers so that Puck would have free rein to sniff him. "Making sure I was 'adjusting' well or some crap. Whatever. What are you doing here?"  
  
"That's quite a tall order they're expecting from you. However will you rise to the occasion?" Kurt's insult fell naturally from his lips, before he grimaced. "I'm  _so_  not discussing why I need to go to the guidance counselor with  _you_ , Puckerman. No offense." If there was a less sincere way to say 'no offense,' Puck was pretty sure that he, Kurt, and Quinn would all have to say it in perfect unison.  
  
Puck met Kurt's attitude with a half-ass glare, one that came off as more of a heavy-lidded gaze than anything else. "None taken. What's your damage? Mismatch your socks this morning?"  
  
" _No_ ," Kurt replied, rolling his eyes. "That's exactly why I pick my clothes the night before, in order to avoid mistakes on the small details that bring an outfit together. The rest of it is absolutely not your business, so if you wouldn't mind..." Kurt motioned for Puck to shoo, or at least move over.  
  
Accepting that as a way of getting out of the conversation and away from Kurt's scent, Puck began to walk away. But Kurt walked straight past him towards the door, trailing his scent like one of his flowy scarves, and Puck's hand shot out to grab Kurt's wrist. He didn't intend it roughly- he didn't intend it at  _all_ , to be honest- but even so, Kurt stilled automatically, a sharp spike of something in his scent coming quick and disappearing just as quickly.  
  
Kurt turned to face Puck, jerking his arm out of Puck's. "Do you  _mind_? I'm aware you're having a Scott Speedman a la  _Underworld_  level crisis you're going through, and I'm more than okay being a little bit supportive in between classes, but do  _not_  touch me like we're BFF, okay?"  
  
Puck's hand stayed in the air awkwardly for a moment before he shoved it into his back pocket as though he were putting a kid in the time-out corner. He willed himself not to turn away, not to do something lame like apologize. He rolled his eyes. "Look, Hummel, it ain't like you're gonna go into Miss Pillsbury's office and she's gonna help you out, unless your problem is whether you use Lysol or ammonia." And maybe that was unfair, because he'd just gone to Miss Pillsbury for help, but Puck blamed it entirely on how good Kurt smelled.  
  
Great, Kurt Hummel's scent was making him work his game. What the hell?  
  
Kurt looked unconvinced, crossing his arms over his chest. "And what, you'd be so much more helpful? I wasn't aware that getting bitten gave you basic human empathy, too."  
  
Puck feigned hurt. "I bet you anything that my advice would be better than whatever nonsense she'd throw at you. Try me." At least, Puck rationalized, it wasn't about sex. Sure, he couldn't really deny that it was  _sexual_ , but Puck wasn't exactly trying to screw the little princess. Honestly, considering that Kurt got like, zero play, it would have been easier to just do him instead of trying to keep him nearby.  
  
Puck hated himself for having that thought, but didn't let it show on his face. He just continued throwing Kurt a challenging look.  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes, and Puck saw a hint of a smirk being thrown back at him. Yeah, it was a really good thing for Kurt that Puck didn't want to do him. He would have played the boy like a damned fiddle or something else incredibly gay.  
  
Kurt readjusted the strap of his bag, smoothing out a twist. Another one of his long, weary sighs left him as they both started to stroll down the hall, away from Miss Pillsbury's office. Puck kept his pace slow, even if Kurt kept attempting to speed them up with that stupid walk of his. If Puck was stuck trying to keep Kurt near him, they were going to move at Puck's speed, not Kurt's.  
  
"Okay, dude, I didn't say 'let's go for a walk through the school together," Puck said, finally. "I said, 'what's your damage.' "  
  
Kurt's hint of a smirk became a full-blown one. "I have to say, I'm impressed. You lasted twenty whole seconds before silence started driving you crazy." Puck just glared at him. "All right, I may have said something to Rachel that may have honestly...gone a bit too far. And now her single feeling is hurt."  
  
"And?"  
  
" 'And'?"  
  
"Yeah, and?" Puck shrugged. "Since when do you care how Rachel feels? I mean, I'm cool with her, even if she's way too uptight and kind of boring, but whatever, that's Rachel. Don't you two hate each other?"  
  
Kurt pressed his lips together for a passing moment, looking off to the side. "And all of that is true. Still, it doesn't exactly excuse my comment to her in any way, shape or form."  
  
Puck's expression was that of someone who had  _never_  thought there wasn't an appropriate excuse to explain away his words. "Dude, did you rag on her rack? Because you don't  _do_  that to a chick unless she's got a bad one. Or like, deserves it."  
  
"I did  _not_  talk about Rachel's  _chest_ , Puck, oh my god is that the only thing you think about?"  
  
"Nope." Puck spent a lot of time wondering whether Kurt tasted as good as he smelled. "So what's the big diss?"  
  
Kurt looked absolutely miserable about having to continue speaking. "I...may have...said that...there was a reason why no one in McKinley High watched her stupid little Youtube channel except those who had run out of tragicomedies to fill their Thursday nights."  
  
Puck just stared for a good long minute, his brow twitching up. "Dude, that's it?"  
  
"And that if Jesse St. James saw that godawful rendition of 'In My Own Little Corner' from Rodgers and Hammerstein's Cinderella that she posted, the wonder is that he stopped at egging her."  
  
"And she got pissed?"  
  
"After I proceeded to suggest to the other members of Glee who were in the room that we enclose her in a fryolator, because that could only  _improve_  her complexion."  
  
Puck whistled. "Well, damn. You screwed up, Hummel. Congrats." At least when Puck made Rachel cry, he could fall behind his rep as a well-known jackass. Hummel was supposed to be one of the weird kids alongside Rachel, or whatever.  
  
Kurt was blushing furiously. "Yes, I know  _that_. It was completely out of line, not to mention unreasonably cruel, but to be honest, I was sick and tired of her insinuating that my vocals in the number were subpar and that Mr. Schue should give them to her. In my own defense, I have to fight to even get an  _audition_ , while Mr. Schue hands her solos like they're candy. I cherish the, what, five words a week I get to sing?" He brushed his bangs to the side and let out a stubborn, annoyed breath. When he realized that Puck was just looking at him, and not responding, he threw Puck an impatient and slightly wide-eyed look. "Well, Mr. Puckerman? You were the one who was so sure they could give me advice. Advise away."  
  
"Okay, okay, give me a minute to think." Puck looked for someplace to stop and think of something to say. There was a set of lockers that was mostly people-free, with the exception of two students chatting. He held up a hand to Kurt. "One second."  
  
Puck walked over to the student leaning on the locker and grabbed them by the sleeve, jerking them away from said locker. He remembered what Mr. Schuester had said before and was careful not to jerk them as hard as he normally would; even so, the student found himself tumbling away from the locker with a look of confusion.  
  
Puck stared at him expectantly. "Go away." He glanced over at the second student. "You too. Beat it." Both students quickly scampered off. Puck straightened his shirt before leaning back on the locker himself.  
  
He was joined momentarily by a very unamused Kurt. "Was that entirely necessary?"  
  
"Yeah, I think better after terrorizing lower classmen. It's a thing." Kurt made an annoyed sound, half tsk, half sigh of resignation, and leaned against the lockers. Less than a foot from Puck. It took all of Puck's self-control not to either pounce or storm off.  
  
"Finished brainstorming?" Kurt deadpanned after a moment. "Or should I find a slushie and a freshman to jump-start your genius?"   
  
"Nah, I'm cool, thanks," Puck replied distractedly. Kurt was really close, even if years of being bullied kept him from getting  _too_  close. "You could just apologize."  
  
"That's what you've got for me?" Kurt nearly laughed. "Apologize? Really, that's brilliant."  
  
Puck raised an eyebrow. "You weren't gonna do it."  
  
"Says who? I was going to Miss Pillsbury's office."  
  
"Exactly," Puck pointed out, leaning in slightly as he crossed his arms. Maybe a little closer than he would have a month ago, but whatever, as long as he wasn't shoving his nose in Kurt's face, no one was going to call him on it. "If you wanted to apologize, you would've just done it." Kurt opened his mouth to counter, but Puck barreled on. "Look, check this: chicks are big on  _words_. You should know this, you hang out with enough of them. You don't need to come up with some complicated thing to get them to forgive you, because if you do? They'll always expect that. And then whenever you mouth off to Rachel? She's going to expect a big show, probably one of your Broadway duets where you let her get the end note to show her you're really sorry. But screw that, why do all that when all you have to do is apologize and girls practically fall out because they don't know what to do when someone with a penis says 'I'm sorry'?"  
  
Kurt blinked. And then blinked some more. "You've really thought this out, haven't you?" His voice was edged with horrified disgust at this new insight into Puck's worldview. Puck was used to it, since he got that response a lot.  
  
Didn't mean he was wrong. "Yeah, I have. I've gotten plenty of tail by being a total  _jerk_ to a chick and then apologizing. Say sorry, and it's like _BAM_ , insta-moist. It's ridiculous."  
  
"I'm not trying to  _bed_  Rachel Berry, Puck!"  
  
"Good. That'd be freakish." Puck paused for a moment. "Look, girls like apologies. So apologize, and she'll get over it." Kurt threw Puck a sour look, sucking in his cheeks like a blowfish or something. "Hummel, get over it. You're gonna have to apologize. Yeah, I get it, you've got that whole 'I don't apologize' thing-"  
  
"I do not," Kurt interjected with a huff. "Just because I've never apologized to  _you_ , since, may I remind you, you have never  _deserved_  one from me, doesn't mean I don't apologize!"  
  
So maybe Puck was egging Kurt on. Maybe getting Kurt agitated was a little funny to watch. And maybe Puck knew that Kurt would likely stay there and defend himself endlessly, as long as Puck didn't start in on any too-personal insults. Which let Puck indulge the creepy new thing about having Kurt near him without coming off kind of gay.  
  
Maybe.  
  
"Bro, I ain't talking about to me. Only person you apologize to is your little girlfriend, Mercedes. Otherwise, all I hear is you yapping about how it's everybody else's fault and you don't need to."  
  
"Oh please, don't even start, Puckerman," Kurt hissed. His face was looking increasingly pinched and pouty. "Like you apologize for anything."  
  
"I  _like_  being an ass. And anyway," Puck pointed out, "I totally apologize when I mean it. I just don't usually mean it."  
  
"Well, aren't you a friggin' saint, what with your honesty and all?" Kurt's pout became incredibly more pronounced. He turned away from Puck.  
  
Puck's face fell slightly, and he sighed. "Hey, man, look, I'm..." He rolled his eyes and sighed. "I'm sorry for hurting your feelings in the conversation we're having about apologizing about hurt feelings. It was kind of funny, but still not cool."  
  
Kurt's head practically spun all the way around as he levelled an entirely disturbed and surprised look at Puck. " _Excuse_  me? Did you just actually apologize? To me?" Puck shrugged, looking down awkwardly. Kurt sputtered for a moment, before settling on, "Thank you...?"  
  
Puck pushed himself off of the locker, the sad look wiped off his face. "See? Saying sorry's easy, and the other person feels better. Now imagine how easy it is when you _mean_  it."  
  
The snort and laugh that escaped Kurt made Puck smirk. Kurt covered his mouth, clamping his lips shut while the amusment still shone in his eyes. Oh yeah, playing Kurt was  _easy_. Just like with a chick, it was a balancing act. Too much charm and that was suspicious, or too safe. Too much asshole, and they got turned off and slapped him.  
  
"You're a terrible person, Puckerman, you know that, right?" Kurt said through giggles.  
  
Puck looked Kurt up and down. "Duh."  
  
Kurt shook his head, standing up straighter, and tugging on the bottom of his blazer. "Well, as loathe as I am to admit it, you may just be right. I suppose I'll simply have to suck it up and apologize. Even if she  _is_  a total show-robbing over-achieving Behind the Music waiting to happen." Then, softer, more hesitantly, "Thank you. For the help."  
  
Puck shrugged. "Whatever man. Give me something hard to handle next time."  
  
Kurt didn't actually fight his smile. "I'll see what I can do. I've got to get going, Puck, I'll see you at rehearsal." Puck just threw him a nod as Kurt trotted off.  
  
Puck clenched his jaw the moment Kurt turned the hallway corner. Kurt's scent lingered.  
  
There  _had_  to be a way to stop creeping over Hummel. This was ridiculous; someone was going to think he wanted to  _mack_  on Kurt or something.  
  
  
  
Puck was sitting behind Kurt and Quinn when Santana slid into the seat next to him. He didn't turn, still semi-pretending to listen to Tina and Artie practicing harmonies.  
  
It wasn't that he didn't notice her. Puck always noticed Santana when she wanted to be noticed. She wasn't easy to ignore, and he'd done it playfully a few times (Santana always made more noise during angry sex, and that was kind of hot). It was impossible to ignore when she moved her chair in a little bit closer. The heat from her nearby body was unavoidable, even when Puck shifted in his seat.  
  
He didn't kick her away when her leg rubbed against his, deliberately and slowly. He just didn't respond, same as when she put an arm around the back of his chair. He did respond when she started letting her fingers trail the back of his neck and the edge of his mohawk; but even then, it was a twitch and an adjustment of his shoulders before shrugging her off of him.  
  
Puck didn't need to  _look_  at Santana to recognize the Cyclops-intensity beam of hate he was receiving from the side. She pulled away from him completely, and out of the corner of his eye he could see her crossing her arms.  
  
He noticed all of it. The problem was- and he would hate himself for thinking this later- that he just didn't care.  
  
There were mere days until the full moon, and it was starting to get to him. Nervousness and fear aside- not that he could put the weight of terrified anticipation aside so easily- everything was  _heightened_  right now. If he'd thought all the smells and sounds had been getting to him before, he'd had no idea. From the moment he'd woken up that morning, everything had been too much. The smell of food from the kitchen where his mother and sister had been making breakfast (even if he'd gone through four plates while they watched in awkward silence). The chatter of students and teachers (growing to an insane din over the past few hours). The pulsing migraine that had him snapping at everything that  _looked_  at him (or didn't, as the case might be). The way his skin felt stretched over something much too big to fit in it, the way his muscles ached and twitched at the slightest touch.   
  
The fact that he'd been talking to Artie and partway through the conversation nearly forgotten how to speak when he smelled Kurt coming down the hall. Puck had just _stared_  when Kurt entered, to the point that Artie'd had to nudge him out of a daze, and Kurt had thrown him a bizarre look before Puck came to and continued talking.  
  
Kurt raised an eyebrow when Puck moved seats before Glee started, but he'd become used to Puck sitting near him in the past few weeks.  
  
Mr. Schuester, at some point, clearly gave up on trying to get Puck to participate. He acknowledged that Puck was on another planet with nothing more than a disappointed shake of the head before continuing on with Glee.  
  
So Mr. Schuester was disappointed, Kurt was weirded out, and Santana was going to rip off Puck's penis with her bare hands. And Puck could give a damn.  
  
The end of Glee Club came too soon for Puck, since he'd been so blitzed out by Kurt's proximity, he'd forgotten to come up with a credible reason to tail the guy. By the time Puck registered that Kurt and Tina were energetically planning a mall day, Santana was very suddenly in Puck's face. "I think you have something to explain to me.  _Now_."  
  
"What?" was Puck's very intelligent reply. After a moment of being looked at like Santana was wondering how Puck's scalp would look on her fireplace, Puck tried again. "What's up, babe?"  
  
"What's  _up_?" Santana's face twisted with fury. "What's  _up_? Puck, I've been throwing you _all_  the signs for the past hour, and you've given me  _zero_ to work with. What's up with _you_?"  
  
Santana's rage was getting a few of the Glee Club members to give each other looks before exiting. Not everyone left- Tina, Kurt, and Mercedes were having a little pow-wow of gossip by the door, and Artie was looking on by the piano.  
  
"Nothing's up with me," Puck insisted, rolling his shoulders again.  
  
"Don't give me that crap, because I all but crawled in your lap and you didn't even blink." Puck was silent, staring at her. "Well? Speak up!"  
  
Puck wasn't a stranger to the feeling of being stuck in a corner. It had never settled right with him. As Santana stood over him expectantly, he felt even more cornered, like her anger was crawling across his arms. He got up, moving around her as if he was going to leave, knowing damn well he wasn't going to make it very far before she started in on him again. Which was fine; he was just looking for a little distance between him and Santana.  
  
"Oh, so now not only is your dick not working, but you're just gonna up and  _walk away_ while I'm talking to you?" Santana sneered. Puck stopped moving, but didn't turn to face her. "You owe me an explanation, Puck, and make it quick."  
  
"Babe, I'm not doing this in front of a crip, that's just weird." Puck paused, glanced over at Artie. "No offense, bro." Artie shrugged it off.  
  
"No, you're not bailing on this," Santana snapped.  
  
"You know what, Artie?" Kurt's sudden interjection was louder and more awkward than necessary as his eyes fell on Puck. There was a weird, helpful sort of look on Kurt's face, one that Puck really wasn't used to seeing on anyone's face.  
  
"Oh shut  _up_  Queen Queer, the normal people are talking," Santana snapped.  
  
Kurt returned her fury to her in an ice cool glare. "I was  _asking_  Artie if he wanted to join us for a mall trip." Kurt quirked an eyebrow towards Puck. "Away from any impending drama." Artie didn't even respond; he just made his way towards the door. "I'll see you in English, Puck."  
  
Puck wanted to throw him a grateful look, but mainly he was annoyed that Santana was driving Kurt out the room. Because that meant when Kurt finally closed the door behind him, it was just Santana and Puck. Sighing, he turned to face her.  
  
"I swear to God, Puck." She strutted up to him. "This  _better_  be the part where I find out you're trying to get me pissed off at you because you think it's hot." She was close enough to toy with a button on his jacket.  
  
She put her hand up to the back of his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Puck could count on one finger the number of times he'd rejected a kiss from a hot chick and  _still_ be rounding up, so he automatically kissed back. That, and it'd been three weeks, maybe more than that, since he'd hooked up with anything that wasn't his hand.  
  
But it wasn't doing anything for him. He was responding automatically, his mouth pressed against hers, his hand sliding down her side to her waist, but that was it. He could smell her arousal, knew what it was, and knew that it should have done something, but his dick simply wasn't jumping to attention like it should have. For a brief panicked moment, he wondered if Kurt's scent had turned him completely homo.  
  
Fortunately for his moment of panic, Santana pulled away from his mouth and started kissing his neck. He started to kiss hers as well, when it hit him what the problem was.  
  
"I can't do this." He jerked away from her suddenly, leaving a confused and horny Santana looking at him with eyes that could set fires. "Not doing it."  
  
"What is your  _damage_ , Puckerman?" Puck was really glad there was no such thing as a were-snake or anything, because he'd be pretty sure Santana was one.  
  
He ran a hand over his head and moved back to lean against the piano. "I'm  _not_  doing this. Screw it."  
  
"I'm trying to get you t-"  
  
"Damn, Santana, you smell like another dude, I can't do it." It had taken close quarters to realize it, yeah, but Puck knew what he was smelling. He'd smelled it when he passed his team mates in the locker room. He knew who she'd slept with, even, could recognize which idiot jock had touched her. Had one of them been in front of him, he would have thrown a punch.  
  
Except that sort of jealousy or territorialism or whatever was bullshit.  Puck wasn't typically jealous, especially not when it came to Santana, but some part of him just _knew_  that three weeks ago, before she'd cut him off? She would have smelled like him, not some loser second-stringer she'd hooked up with to pass the time.  
  
Santana's face screwed up in confusion. "Did you just tell me I smell like a guy?"  
  
" _No_ ," Puck snapped through gritted teeth. Having to explain it was annoying; even though he'd just realized it, it felt like the most obvious thing in the world, like he shouldn't have had to explain it. Not to Santana, not to anyone. "I'm telling you, I can smell the last dude you knocked boots with all over you and it ain't exactly getting me all hot and bothered."  
  
Having said it out loud, he felt a burst of confidence and pushed himself off the piano, moving back in closer to her. He didn't touch her, but he did  _sniff_  her. Along her neck, her hair, until she stepped back. He did the same. "Drew, seriously? Boy's a fucking chump."  
  
Her eyes were wide. "How the hell do you even know that?" No argument, but it wasn't like they were dating, or Puck usually even cared. Most of the time Puck  _knew_  who Santana was screwing, but knowing it and smelling it were two different things. It was like having another dude  _watch_  him the whole time, like they were in the room.  
  
Puck crossed his arms over his chest and shrugged. "Like I said, I can smell him. And it isn't cool."  
  
"Um, since when does who I'm sleeping with affect this," Santana demanded to know, motioning between the two of them.  
  
"I can _not_  be smelling another guy all over you when I'm trying to get with you. I can't." And the smell was odd enough that Puck wasn't really interested in trying to move past it, either. "Just...it's one of those weird freaky things that I seriously am  _not_ kosher with talking about right now, okay? Just accept it."  
  
Santana looked taken aback and disgusted. "So now you're not only a freak, but you're a freak who turns down sex with  _me_? What, did getting bit turn you into a were-homo or something? This is stupid- I've gotta take long showers before getting sex? Super-lame."  
  
He shook his head. He ignored the fact that every single word made him clench his jaw that much tighter. "I don't-" He stopped, then, said with extreme reluctance, "Not how it works."  
  
"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded. Puck shrugged. "That's it? So what, you're  _dumping_  me or something now?"  
  
"Dude, we're not even  _dating_!" Puck snapped, exploding more than he'd expected to. "You haven't given it up in weeks, and now you're giving me crap?"  
  
Santana rolled her eyes with an expertise that bordered on professional. "Most guys don't turn down sex after month-long dry spells, Puck. What's that say about you, huh?"  
  
Puck glared at her. He was pretty sure he was shaking. "Don't start, Santana."  
  
"Oh, 'don't start Santana.' " Santana looked like she might puke. "So getting turned into an animal just makes you a little bitch? God, you're such a freaking turn-on right now. I'm glad you stopped me; I don't think my rep could handle having slept with such a freakazoid."  
  
"Stop being a raging bitch for like  _four_  seconds," he snarled. "Last thing I need right now is you getting on my case for not wanting to  _fuck_. In like, a couple of days? I'm going to basically be Marmaduke with a taste for people meat, so I don't need to sit here and pretend to get off to the smell of Drew on you, got it?" Puck gave her a once-over. "Or Robby, and whoever else it might be next week. Dude, I just don't  _care_."  
  
Santana's nostrils actually flared. "I did not start making out with you so that I could listen to you whine about your  _problems_ , Puck. I started making out because I wanted something. Now, if you can't give it to me all of a sudden, I'm just going to have to find it elsewhere. And once I walk the hell out of here, you won't have to worry about smelling any other guys. Because you won't be smelling  _me_  at all, got it Freakerman?"  
  
With that, Santana stormed out, leaving Puck standing there and feeling stupid.  
  
"Seriously?" Puck said to no one in particular. "I can't even sleep with  _Santana_  now?"  
  
  
  
Puck didn't go home after the fight with Santana. Instead, he made his way to the mall. He knew why he was going, even if he didn't dare think it to himself.  
  
Just walking across the mall parking lot felt like a mistake, and by the time he got inside the mall proper, there were too many smells, too many people jostling against him. He tensed every time someone brushed by him, his fingers curled tightly into his palms. He wasn't used to feeling claustrophobic in a crowd, but every bit of body heat felt like too much. He took a deep breath, and then it hit him: he had  _no_  clue where the Glee Clubbers were.  
  
"Dammit..." Puck muttered under his breath, looking around the main floor. Where was he supposed to start?  
  
He didn't know why he'd even bothered going anyway. On the way over, he'd been sure it'd be a piece of cake to find Kurt Hummel in this crowd, regardless of the fact that it was, well, a crowded mall after school. It was a stupid thought, and it was stupid of him to go to the mall at all.   
  
Some dude and his girlfriend passed him by, practically ramming into him (Puck swallowed a growl and shoved his hands into his pockets to forcibly keep himself from decking the guy). For the briefest of moments, when they passed, their scents flooded his nose; neither was particularly gross or pleasant, they were just close. When they moved away, their scents lingered behind them before being lost in the crowd.  
  
And Puck knew why he'd been so sure he could find Kurt in a crowded mall.  
  
It wasn't difficult to recall Kurt's scent. Puck had spent entirely too much time recently completely immersed in it, or at least as immersed in it as he could be without actually touching the guy.  The difficulty lay in thinking about his scent and still being able to focus on what Puck wanted to do. He bit down hard on the inside of his mouth to keep from spacing out. He closed his eyes.  
  
There were more scents floating through the mall than Puck could differentiate between at once. If he focused on one, he could push the others aside for a moment, but most of the scents were so unremarkable it wasn't worth the bother. But Puck could do it, and that was the important thing.  
  
Opening his eyes, he prowled around the mall, keeping closer to the store entrances because Kurt was probably inside one of them. The first time Puck picked up Kurt's scent, Puck felt a jolt of surprise and pride shoot up his spine; disappointment followed quickly afterward when he realized it wasn't nearly strong enough for Kurt to still be in the Old Navy.   
  
Satisfied that Kurt wasn't on the first floor, Puck headed upstairs. It was odd; once he was trying to trail Kurt's scent, it didn't occur to Puck to keep an eye out for the teenager. Doing so seemed redundant, excessive. Silly. He didn't need to look for Kurt, not when he knew he'd smell the teenager before he'd ever see him.  
  
Kurt's scent hit him harder on the second floor, like he was in a store by the escalator. Puck blinked, then frowned, sniffing the air. Someone threw him a look; he flipped them the finger before moving past them. He followed the scent to the front of H&M he could see Tina and Artie off to one side of the store, but Kurt's scent wasn't over there, so Puck walked around to the other side of the store. Slowly, he let the trail of Kurt's scent pull him forward.  
  
He ignored the thrill of having actually  _done_  it, having actually tracked Kurt through the mall. Bad-ass new skill or not, he had been tracking a dude.  
  
He found Kurt waiting outside the fitting rooms, leaning on the wall with a pile of clothes slung over his arm. Puck came up behind him, quietly, his hands in his jean pockets. " 'Sup?"  
  
Kurt jumped, clutching the clothes to his chest as he turned around. That sharpness rose again in his scent, before he saw who it was and the sharpness subsided. Puck could  _hear_  how hard Kurt's heart was beating, this close. The headache Puck had been suffering for days beat in tune with the rapid beat. "Oh my  _god_ , Puck, what the  _hell_  are you doing here?"  
  
Puck shrugged. "Looking for you." He didn't actually mean to say that.  
  
"Wh- how?" Kurt took a breath and shook his head, a hand pressed to his heart like a southern belle in a movie. Puck was wincing at the shrillness of Kurt's voice, and Kurt must have noticed, because he quickly lowered it. "And it didn't occur to you to just call me? You  _had_  to creep up behind me like some sort of crazed stalker?"  
  
Well, when he put it like that, it was significantly less bad-ass. "I don't have your number. And I knew you were at the mall."  
  
"And you what, looked in every store until you found me?" Kurt stared at Puck as if he'd grown a second head. Or was a weird mythological creature, like a werewolf or something. "That sounds like a colossal waste of your time."  
  
"Dude, that'd be lame," Puck said. "I..." Well saying it out loud was  _definitely_  less bad-ass. "...followed your scent..." He shrugged again, this time looking defensive. "It's a _thing_  now, okay? That I can do. Shut up."  
  
"I didn't say anything, Mr. Bloodhound," Kurt said dryly, his composure returning fairly quickly. Puck glanced up at the ceiling, feeling increasingly awkward. Kurt smoothed the wrinkles in the clothes he'd been carrying before he continued, "So is there a reason you were looking for me, or was my shea butter and lavender lotion simply the easiest to follow?"  
  
"I wasn't going to look for Tina or Mercedes," Puck muttered.  
  
"You're friends with Artie," Kurt pointed out.  
  
Well, Puck didn't know how to counter that one. "Your scent's easier to remember." That  _wasn't_  the way.  
  
Kurt's eyebrows rose immediately. "Should I be insulted, or complimented?"  
  
Puck glared at him. "Don't push it, Hummel. So you smell nice. You're not that special." Puck blamed his current stupidity not on his usual stupidity, but on how close Kurt was standing to him.  
  
For a short, horrifying moment, Puck wished he  _did_  want to hook up with Kurt, and that was all this was. Because he could deal with that. He could work that easily. Puck could mack and run. This...this wanting to be  _around_ , wanting to be near Kurt's scent and keep it near him, all this stumbling over his normal smoothness, it was just ridiculous.  
  
"...I'm going to go with 'thank you,' then," Kurt said, throwing Puck a fairly snotty smirk. "So, why did you need to look for me, exactly?"  
  
"Bored," Puck answered. Kurt looked less than impressed by the response. " _What_?"  
  
"I was in the room when Santana started her little sexual hissy fit, Puck," Kurt said carefully. "Whatever you are right now, I doubt it's bored. Insane, I'll grant you, but not _bored_." He paused for a moment, and then asked, "How did it go?"  
  
Puck groaned, rolling his eyes. "It blew."  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"I shot her down." He sounded shocked, as if he were saying that Santana had shot him down.  
  
Kurt actually looked impressed, instead of sympathetic. "Congratulations, Noah Puckerman, you're learning self-control." Puck didn't look convinced. Probably because 'self-control' was totally the last thing he was learning. "It's okay if you don't want to jump everything that moves, you know that right? It doesn't make you a terrible person."  
  
"Uh, saying no to Santana does though," Puck retorted. "It makes me a freak. The only person who'd say no to her is, like..." He glanced at Kurt with a shrug. "You."  
  
"I'm sure there are straight men on the planet who don't want to have sex with Santana."  
  
"No."  
  
"Unless you're about to come out of the closet—" Kurt held up a hand as Puck opened his mouth to begin a defensive tirade "— and we  _both_  know that you are not, I can name one. So there." Kurt sounded much more sure of things than Puck felt, that was for sure. "Don't worry about it so much. You're still the most disgustingly macho thing that has ever strutted down the halls of McKinley High."  
  
That made Puck feel a  _little_  better. That was nice of Kurt to say. "It's still weird," Puck pouted. "Dude, tapping Santana? That's like number two on my list of favorite things to do."  
  
"What's number one?"  
  
"Lift weights."  
  
"Three?"  
  
"Play Smash Brothers." Puck made a face. "It's like, it's another thing that I just  _don't_ need changing right now."  
  
"Right." Kurt released a delicate sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. Most of his facial expression was obscured by his hand, but Puck could still make out the grimace-that-was-also-a-smile there too. Possibly because he was looking at Kurt too closely. "Puck, can I ask you a question?"  
  
"You can ask. I don't promise I won't slushie you for it tomorrow." That was a total lie. He hadn't slushied Kurt in weeks.  
  
Kurt raised his eyebrow again. "I will pretend I think you're joking, and ask anyway. Puck, you've got less than a week until the full moon, you were in the hospital less than a month ago, and your biggest concern is that you don't want to sleep with Santana? Doesn't it sound to you like your priorities may be a little...out of order?" Puck looked at him blankly. "At all?"  
  
Puck hadn't thought about it like that. "Not really."  
  
Kurt groaned. "Okay, since you were  _so_  kind as to help me earlier, I will return the favor with a little advice of my own." Puck opened his mouth. "Nuh-uh, Puckerman, you're going to listen to me. I know that your measure of manhood is how many different pairs of panties you see in a given week, but honestly? If there is any time in your life that you should — no, that you  _need_  — to give it a rest, that time is now. Girls are clearly complicating things for you. They kind of have for a while now." Kurt gave him a knowing look. "So for once in your life? Stop thinking about skirt-chasing and focus on... and I hate having to tell  _you_  this... focus on yourself. I'm fairly positive you've earned it."  
  
Puck nearly laughed at the advice. Girls were  _so_  not his problem right now. In fact, his problem was that they  _weren't_  his problem. At. All. His problem was standing right in front of him, trying to be helpful while he smelled so good it was taking all the self-control Kurt had applauded him for moments earlier not to shove Kurt on a pile of clothes so that Puck could bury his nose in Kurt's hair.  
  
He didn't say any of that. Which was a relief, considering the stupidity that had left his mouth already. He didn't even respond, though, because before he could say anything, Kurt's attention was pulled from him.  
  
Puck glanced past Kurt, where Mercedes was coming out of the dressing room in some brightly colored eighties-looking outfit that looked exactly like everything else she ever wore. Kurt seemed to think this look was something special, though, because before Puck knew it, Kurt had shoved all the clothes in his arms, into Puck's. He flitted to Mercedes' side, squealing with her over the outfit.   
  
Leaving Puck standing there with a pile of clothes for Kurt, wondering how this had happened.  
  
Mercedes caught sight of Puck and waved awkwardly, throwing him the same puzzled expression she'd been throwing him for a little while now. A look that Puck was getting tired of at this point, because he wasn't  _that_  weird, that confusing. Fortunately, before he could snap at Mercedes over it, Artie and Tina finally came over, and the girls — and Kurt — got lost in commenting on every stitch of Mercedes' outfit.  
  
Artie came to a stop right next to Puck. "Thought I was totally going to be the only 'guy', you know? Thanks."  
  
Puck gave him a look. Since when did anyone just come up and say thanks to Puck for anything? Especially for just standing around. "I didn't come to chill, but you're welcome?" After a beat, Puck dumped the clothes on Artie's lap. "Good looking out, bro, thanks."  
  
Artie snorted, shaking his head. "Even if you didn't, it's cool, yo. I mean, I like it when we talk."  
  
"Uh...thanks, I guess." Puck blinked, looking uncomfortable.  
  
"If you two are  _done_  thanking each other for your perceived masculinity," Kurt coughed, turning to them with a roll of his eyes. Artie shrugged, looking embarrassed. Puck stood there unfazed; whatever, Kurt knew he was one of the girls anyway. He got pissed at Schue all the time for  _not_  letting him be one of the girls. With a sigh, Kurt moved to dig through the pile of clothes that Puck had deposited on Artie's lap. He grabbed a pair of pants and a shirt. "I'll be right back, heading to the guys' changing room."  
  
He started to move, but then paused, turning back around and facing Puck. He frowned, briefly and thoughtfully, before holding out the clothes he'd just grabbed. "Hold these for a minute." It wasn't a request, but Puck didn't bother giving him crap for it, just took the clothes with an annoyed look — a look that was probably directed more at the glance Tina and Artie were exchanging than anything else.  
  
Kurt removed the jacket he was wearing, and folded it neatly, before draping it over Puck's arm. "Take care of my baby, I expect her in one piece when I get back." It was good that Kurt didn't say anything else past that, because Puck wouldn't have heard it. He was too busy staring at the jacket on his arm as Kurt took back the clothes he was going to try on. "Is that clear, Mr. Puckerman?" Kurt raised an eyebrow at him.  
  
Artie, Mercedes, and Tina all went "Ooooh..." and Puck glared at the three of them. "Whatever, I won't mess up your precious gay jacket," he grumbled, his fingers already absent-mindedly toying with the belt of it. "Go hurry up, I'm not standing here all day."  
  
"I'm not the one who — " Kurt cut himself off, shaking his head. "Never mind. Just don't...drop it or pee on it or something." And Kurt walked off, throwing Puck a funny, indecipherable look over his shoulder.  
  
Puck rolled his eyes at Kurt's weirdness, grimacing. He could have just dropped the damned jacket in Artie's lap; the thing was clearly too expensive to have been bought at this store, if any employees looked over.  
  
Artie was saying something. Or maybe Mercedes was; once Kurt trotted off, Puck stopped paying attention. Instead, he kept fidgeting with the jacket he was holding. He wasn't looking at it; in fact, he made a concerted effort  _not_  to look at it, in case the other three noticed. But he wasn't worried about anyone piecing together his appreciation of its scent, not really; he wasn't exactly putting up to his nose (and he definitely wasn't thinking of that anyway), so they couldn't really cotton on to it anyway.  
  
The entire jacket smelled of Kurt. Puck didn't usually notice Kurt's clothes except to make fun of them, so when he started to wonder how often Kurt wore the jacket, it wasn't a surprise that he couldn't hazard a guess.  
  
It wasn't a surprise that Puck didn't notice the low rumbling sound of contentedness that came out of him, either. He chewed on his lip with a look that could have been mistaken for thoughtfulness, if the person looking didn't know Puck and so didn't know how rarely that expression ever crossed his face.   
  
Puck readjusted the jacket, tossing it over his shoulder. It moved the scent closer to his nose without him having to embarrass himself. His eyelids drooped as he fought the temptation to just let them close for a minute or two, and Puck wasn't pulled away from his private little world until he smelled Kurt coming back over. His head shot up, and he hoped he didn't look as dazed as he felt.  
  
Kurt held out his hands, rotating on the spot in some skinny jean things like all the other impossibly skinny pants that he wore, and a blue shirt he'd tried on. "Well? Opinions?" Puck and Artie both shrugged, even if it took Puck an extra second to piece together exactly what Kurt was asking. "You're no help, and I wasn't asking you 'guys' either." Kurt turned sharply to face Tina and Mercedes, who both gave critiques.  
  
Puck rolled his eyes, trying to recover from his moment of spacing out. He moved the jacket again, this time back to his arm. "I think I'm going to die of boredom. Can we go to the Food Court or something?"  
  
"You've been here for like fifteen minutes. Tops," Kurt tsked. "If you want to hang out, you can just stand and be a vaguely handsome coat rack for a little while longer." He went to grab his jacket. Puck didn't  _mean_  not to let it go; it just kind of happened.  
  
"Vaguely handsome?" Puck snorted. "I'm frigging hot shit."  
  
Kurt tugged a little at the jacket. "Of course you are, Puck, but if I said that, you'd have a little hissy fit." He tugged once more, gently, at the jacket, his eyebrow raised at Puck. "My jacket, Puck."  
  
Puck blinked, and let go of the jacket like it'd burned him. Kurt gave him a curious look, similar to the one he'd thrown at Puck before going to get changed. One that Puck hadn't understood before, but his stomach twisted as he understood it now.  
  
Kurt didn't  _suspect_  something was up with Puck; he knew. He'd noticed Puck's reaction to the jacket. Puck didn't know what it was that had given him away — Kurt could have seen him smell it, could have noticed Puck toying with it.  
  
Hell, maybe he just noticed that Puck hadn't wanted to let it go. That was pretty good evidence something freakish was going on.  
  
"Well, I think I know what I'm picking up, so if you give me a moment to change and get rung up, we can go get something to eat." Kurt's voice was oddly gentle, as if he knew that Puck knew or something. Puck didn't like it one bit.  
  
Artie nodded with a smile. "All right...I've been  _jonesing_  for some tacos, yo."  
  
Disgust flickered across Kurt's face, breaking the awkward spell of realization that he and Puck had been trapped in momentarily. "Ugh. Artie, one day you and I are going to discuss what's in those tacos, exactly, and why no one who wants to live past thirty should consume them, okay?" Artie shrugged.  
  
This time, Kurt took his jacket with him into the changing room. Puck wasn't sure if he was grateful or not.

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day before the full moon means team practice gets dangerous and Kurt and Puck get even more complicated.

Coach Beiste benched him during the next practice when he got into two back-to-back shouting matches. He insisted he was cool, but a long look from her said she wasn't going to budge, so he’d better just sit his ass down. He spent the rest of practice glaring a hole through the field, bottle of water in hand but mostly forgotten. When practice was over, he headed straight for the showers.  
  
One more day. Tomorrow night would be his first full moon, and at this point, he welcomed it. He felt like he'd explode out of his skin, a feeling that grew worse with every hour that passed. His body ached, his headache pounded, his skin smoldered. Anything was better than this, even the awkwardness of the mall trip, where he'd been sandwiched between Kurt's concern and Mercedes' wariness.  
  
But he did  _not_  want to think about them right now. Kurt was off doing  _something_  with Mercedes, as usual, and the lack of Glee meant Puck hadn't been able to come along — a fact that strained his already dangerously short temper, though he knew was being ridiculous. He'd enjoyed being around that scent, the way it had calmed him, focused him. He wanted that back.  
  
But like he'd pointed out to Kurt before, he didn't have Kurt's number, and tracking Kurt around  _town_  was way more effort than doing it in a mall.  
  
He blasted cold water in the shower, hoping to cool what felt like the highest fever he'd ever experienced. It didn't really work, which only aggravated him further. He stomped out of the shower, grabbed his towel, and headed to his locker to get changed.  
  
As he finished getting dressed, he smelled Finn's hesitant approach. He said nothing. "Hey, bro, you okay?" Finn ventured, reaching out to touch Puck on the shoulder. Puck jerked away violently. "You're burning up. You sure you don't need to see the nurse?"  
  
Puck slammed his locker shut, and the sound echoed. His headache throbbed. "I'm _fine_ , Finn. Drop it."  
  
Puck turned in time to see Finn's vaguely hurt and confused expression. There might have been more venom to Puck's words than he'd intended, but Puck didn't want to play Question and Answer. Considering how rarely he'd heard it before he'd been bitten, Puck hadn't thought he'd get tired of hearing people ask if he was okay, but every time he twitched, growled, or spaced out, someone was in his business, demanding to know what was going on.  
  
Next person who asked him if he was cool was going to get beaten with their own arm, and Puck wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself.  
  
"You've got, like, a fever or something," Finn continued, looking way too damned concerned for his own good. "I really think you've got to go to the nurse."  
  
"I  _said_  back off, Finn," Puck snapped at him. "So learn English and back  _off_." Puck didn't need Finn's idiotic pity face or his tip-toeing concern. Puck didn't know what he needed, but he was pretty sure that Finn's anything wasn't it, unless Finn was suddenly offering himself up to get pounded on for a minute or two.  
  
The other members of the team were either looking on warily or trying to act like they had blinders on. Puck told himself to ignore the ones paying attention. He tried to ignore the spikes in the scents, the way that when he met their eyes, most of them looked away.  
  
Actually, no, fuck it, he was tired of trying to ignore everything. He was Noah Fucking Puckerman. He relished their spineless pussy bullshit. Let them be scared, because if they were scared, that meant that they were too busy pissing themselves for him to have to put up with them.  
  
Finn was planted in place. "Dude, what's wrong with you today? I mean, I know you don't like Sa-"  
  
"He was fucking  _annoying_  me, Finn. Kind of like you are right now." Puck glared at him, willing Finn to get the point, because he was trying a lot harder not to deck Finn than he'd tried with everyone else on the team. He shoved Finn back. "Get it?"  
  
Finn, automatically, shoved back. Puck stared at his own shoulder as if Finn's hand had burned it. "You're acting  _crazy_ , Puck, chill the hell out."  
  
"Chill  _out_?" Puck snarled back, shoving Finn again, harder, into the locker. Finn hit it hard enough to make a pained noise, and Puck barely registered the dent he'd caused in the locker door as his voice rose. "Don't tell me to  _chill_ , bro.  _I'm_  cool,  _you're_  the one who won't get off my back!"  
  
Finn stared at him with baffled, wide eyes. He lifted his hand to the back of his head, rubbing it with a wince. "No one did anything to you, man! Same team, remember?"  
  
"Oh, screw you," Puck snapped, stepping forward. Finn wanted to be all up in his space, Puck would get all up in  _his_. "Don't give me that crap. If you're in my face, I'm gonna react. It's not rocket science, moron."  
  
"No one's in your face!" Finn retorted. "If you would just-"  
  
Puck was raising his fist before he registered what he was doing.  
  
" _Puckerman!_ " Beiste's voice distracted him as he threw the punch, giving Finn the chance to scramble out of the way, and Puck's fist hit the locker, nearly crumpling the door.  
  
" _Fuck!_ " Puck cradled his own fist as the pain shattered through the stream of his rage.  
  
Beiste stalked over to them both. "What the heck is going on?" she bellowed.  
  
Finn opened his mouth, but Puck cut him off before he spoke. "My fault," Puck ground out.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
"It's done," Puck insisted, shaking out his sore fist. "We're cool." Finn threw him a sharp look; Puck's stony expression didn't change. "I need to take a walk."  
  
He grabbed his bag and practically ran out of the locker room, ignoring Beiste calling after him.  
  
  
  
Puck had wanted to punch Finn before; more than once, actually, but he didn’t usually _regret_  doing so. This time, with his blood pumping in his ears and his muscles in knots, he felt like crap about it, but he was still pretty sure that if he heard Finn's concern again, he'd throw another punch. Hell, it didn't have to be  _Finn_ , either. He just wanted to hit something, do something explosive.  
  
He wished it were a Fight Club night so he could wail on some poor fuck. He wondered if they'd start crap because it was so close to the full moon — like the football team, all worried about practice against a  _werewolf_. Fuck ‘em.  
  
He went straight to the Glee practice room, closing the door behind him. He wasn't ready to go into the parking lot, not when he might run into one of his teammates heading home. He tossed his bag over on top of the piano and dropped into a chair. It only took a moment for him to realize that he'd sat in Kurt's usual seat, that the familiar scent did at least a little bit to untense his shoulders.  
  
Not enough, but it was something. He slouched down in the chair, arms crossed, his head dropped back. His foot tapped furiously.  
  
The door creaked open, and Puck lifted his head up at the scent that accompanied the sound. "Kurt?"  
  
Kurt closed the door gently, leaning against it instead of coming further into the room. "Hey, Puck."  
  
Puck wanted to go up to Kurt, but didn't quite know what he'd do if he did. So he split the difference and stood up, walking about halfway across the room.  
  
"What the hell do you want?"  
  
He tried to sound as unwelcoming as he could, but he was so surprised to see Kurt that he wasn't doing a very good job of it.  
  
"I  _was_  going to give Finn a ride home," Kurt explained. "His car's in the shop."  
  
"Then why are you here? Practice is over." Puck's fingers curled and uncurled at his side, twitching. Wasn't Kurt’s presence supposed to make this feeling  _stop_? It was the one thing he'd been grateful for since discovering the weird effect Kurt's scent had on him, yet having Kurt right there wasn't doing much more than sitting in his chair had. "Finn's probably ready to bounce."  
  
Kurt shrugged a slender shoulder. "Mike is giving him a ride. I told him I was going to hang back for a minute."  
  
"For what?" Puck snapped, hackles rising. "If you're just going to ask if I'm okay, let me get it out of the way for you. No, I'm clearly not, no, you can't help, so yeah, you should probably just go before I do something stupid." Something stupid, something he'd regret, and he wasn’t entirely sure what that something would be. His thoughts barely formed words, let alone full sentences.  
  
"He told me what happened when I met him by the locker room," Kurt elaborated, punctuating his words with an unimpressed arch of his brows. "I figured letting you wander around alone probably wasn't the best idea. Thought you might need a ride home."  
  
Puck snorted, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable, you know that, Hummel?"  
  
"I'm sorry," Kurt replied drolly. "What am I doing that's so 'unbelievable'?" He stopped for a moment, searching Puck's eyes for something Puck was pretty sure he wasn't going to find, whatever it was. Puck was never a fan of being searched like that, like nothing he was giving was enough, like whoever was staring was sure there had to be something else, something that made more sense.  
  
Well, there wasn't. There wasn't anything underneath but some alien, animal thing that Puck couldn't explain even if he had the energy.  
  
Puck scowled and looked down at the worn linoleum floor, breaking the moment. "I don't need any new friends."  
  
"Funny, because that's not what you've been acting like." Kurt lifted his chin and walked further into the classroom, every light step emphatic. Deliberate. Puck raised his head despite himself, watching him.  
  
Puck remembered the night he'd been changed, and how he hadn’t had the sense to step back, to bow down. His feet stayed rooted to the floor where there were, just like then, and he stared at Kurt with an expression he hoped wasn't as full of fear as that night.  
  
But this fear was different. Puck wasn't scared of Kurt. He’d never been scared of Kurt, and he never would be. What did scare him, though, was what Kurt's scent did to him. The things it made him say and feel. What it made him do. And Kurt didn't understand that, couldn't understand, and so his proud and graceful approach was executed without a smidgin of fear.  
  
Even after what Finn must have told him. Even after the night at the mall. Even after any of the other millions of creepy things that Puck had done unintentionally, instinctively, since he'd first noticed Kurt's scent.  
  
Kurt made him afraid of himself. Puck didn't know what to do with that.  
  
"What the hell do you think I've been acting like?" Puck's voice wasn't nearly as bad-ass as it should have been, lacked the edge Puck spent way too much time perfecting. It sounded  _weak_  to him, lame, pathetic. And even still, his skin was on fire, his muscles felt like steel rods, and Kurt’s scent made the room spin in his vision.  
  
Kurt always went for the dramatic as opposed to the direct; Puck didn't need to be tight with Kurt to know that. "You've been acting like someone who wanted a friend," Kurt said quietly, quirking an eyebrow again. He was only a foot, two feet away from Puck, and the space between them felt like a pressure cooker against Puck's senses. Heat and scent pressed against Puck like another human being. "When someone spends that much time seeking you out, you start thinking maybe they want you around..." Kurt pressed his lips together, the way he did whenever he was trying to avoid frowning. "It's a nice feeling. I thought I'd return the favor."  
  
"Now is  _so_  not the time to try to get close to me, Hummel." Puck's eyes trailed Kurt's body anyway, his confident posture, the surety in the way he looked Puck straight in the eye.  
  
"Maybe you should have thought about that before trying to get close to  _me_ , Puckerman," Kurt pointed out. "I mean, honestly, you've been attempting to replace my shadow for weeks now. I'm not  _stupid_ , I've seen it. And you know I've seen it, because you're not exactly the most subtle stalker on the planet. So why don't you do yourself a favor and stop lying to me. It might make things a little easier to deal with."  
  
"Trust me, it won't."  
  
Then, in an echo of their conversation outside of Miss Pillsbury's office, Kurt said simply, "Try me." Puck released an agitated breath, his curled fingers becoming clenched fists. "Why don't we start with why you took a swing at Finn, and work backwards, huh?" Neither of them moved. "Seriously, Puck, it's not that hard. Why?"  
  
"Because I was sick of hearing his voice," Puck began, reluctantly, even as his voice gained vehemence. "I was sick of being asked if I was okay, or told I should go get help for something that no one in this  _stupid_  school understands. I'm sick of getting stared at like a freak, and being the only one of – of  _me_ , here. No one gets that."  
  
"Gee, I don't know, it sounds vaguely familiar."  
  
"Don't be stupid."  
  
"Have  _you_  ever been gay at McKinley? You'd be surprised how similar it sounds."  
  
Puck practically growled at him. Kurt didn't flinch. "Don't compare getting bitten to being gay."  
  
"I'm not. Because we're not talking about you having been bitten. We're talking about you actually being a werewolf. A freak." Kurt's voice grew softer. "Like me." Puck wanted to argue the point further, but words weren’t coming to him. Watching him, Kurt sighed, brushing hair away from his face. "So you hit Finn–"  
  
"I didn't  _actually_  hit him," Puck interjected.  
  
Kurt rolled his eyes. "Don't try to blind me with technicalities, Puckerman. It won't work. You tried to, you missed. Which is pretty darn lucky for everyone involved, considering what Finn told me you did to that locker." Puck glanced away. "Relax. I'd be angry had you managed to hit him. You didn't, so I'm not, and I'm not going to scold you about it. So not worth my time."  
  
"What do you  _want_  from me then?" Puck wanted to know, taking a step in closer. "You want me to apologize to Finn? Fine, I'll do it when I don't still want to beat his face in. You want to have a stupid little pow-wow about being the two Freaks of McKinley? Sorry, not my style."  
  
"I'm not  _asking_  you to do anything, Puck." Kurt stared at him with his head tilted, a look of confusion in his eyes. "I'm trying to help and understand as best as I can. That's all."  
  
"You  _can't_ ," Puck assured him.  
  
Kurt shrugged. "I may not be able to understand why you keep making those weird growling noises, or why you seemed so very attached to my admittedly stylish Marc Jacobs jacket, or even why you've gotten so much nicer to me since you were bitten. But I do understand a little about sticking out like a sore thumb at this school." He held up his hands. "If you don't want me hanging around, that's fine, but saying that works a little better  _when you don't seek me out_ , I think." Puck didn't answer, his jaw set tightly. "I know it's the day before the full moon. Everyone who goes to this loser school does. I can guess that probably feels really weird, from the way you've been acting."  
  
"Weird?" Puck snorted. "Yeah, let's go with weird."  
  
"Occasionally, even I can do understatements," Kurt retorted smoothly, waving off Puck's dismissiveness. "But look, right now, you're talking to me. You haven't even tried hitting me or knocking me into a wall, and you're way more used to doing that to me than to Finn or one of your other teammates." Kurt tried out a soft, lopsided smile. "So maybe talking's helping a little? For once?"  
  
Puck rolled his eyes. "That's different."  
  
"How's it any different?" Kurt took another small step forward, and he was way too close, and again, Puck stood his ground stubbornly.  
  
"Because they don't–"  _Smell like you_ , Puck didn't say. He cut himself off in frustration, hating the complexities of speech. Kurt caught a bit of the unspoken in Puck's eyes and continued to regard him, challengingly. Puck rolled his aching shoulders. "I wanted to hit them. I don't want to hit you."  
  
He didn't intend the weight of his tone to imply that he wanted to do something  _else_ , it just  _did_ , and stupid observant Kurt caught that too, his brow knitting together and his mouth forming a perplexed little 'o' as he processed Puck's words.  
  
"Well..." Kurt said carefully, slowly, "...am I going to regret it if I ask what you want, then?"  
  
"Probably." After a beat, Puck closed his eyes as if he were in pain. "Not...no. I'm not like, coming out to you or some weird crap like that. It's not like that." Kurt looked doubtful, but let Puck continue. "It's not a gay thing, okay? It's a..." Even now, saying it sounded surreal. Like this was something that should be happening to anyone in Lima except him. "...a werewolf thing. A stupid,  _idiotic_  werewolf thing."  
  
Kurt's lips were still pursed thoughtfully. "Explain it to me. You know, so I know for sure you're not trying to avoid coming out of the closet to me and all."  
  
Puck's lips curled in disgust, but whether it was at Kurt's statement or his own situation was unclear. Especially to Puck. He dropped his head, staring at the floor. "It's how you smell," he admitted after several seconds, his voice low and quieter than his usual. Just  _hearing_  it come out of his mouth, how embarrassingly pathetic he sounded, made Puck's shoulders hunch a little more.  
  
"Excuse me?"  
  
"How. You. Smell." Puck snapped. "I can't explain it, okay?" His words hung in the air, as Kurt was clearly waiting for him to continue, and when Puck realized Kurt wouldn’t simply let that stand, Puck found himself moving in closer.  
  
There were barely inches between them when he came to a stop again. Puck took a breath, closing his eyes for a minute. He opened his eyes, his voice huskier when it emerged. "I don't know why, maybe it's all your weird organic shit, or something else, but you smell awesome. It's distracting, makes it tough to think, like when you get one of those hot substitutes bending over to grab a pen."  
  
"You're not helping your 'not coming out of the closet' case."  
  
"You  _know_  what I mean."  
  
Kurt thought about it for a minute. "No, I don't. But that's why you wouldn't give me back my jacket?" Puck nodded, not so much staring at Kurt as he was spacing out in his general direction from being so close. "That's why you keep insisting on tagging along with me?" Puck didn't even bother nodding. "And this  _isn't_  a gay thing?"  
  
"Nope," Puck answered, but he’d already given up on paying attention. For most of the conversation, Puck had been able to use his rage – and the distance between the two of them – to keep from focusing on Kurt’s scent. But talking about it, being so close...even with his own skin feverishly warm, he could feel Kurt's body heat. He was close enough to sniff Kurt's hair, and he couldn't help it when he leaned forward and did just that.  
  
Kurt stumbled back and gasped, but there was no sharpness to his scent; it was all surprise, not fear. Puck reached out automatically and put a hand on Kurt's narrow waist to steady him. Puck could hear the other teenager’s heartbeat speed up as he bowed his head in closer, breathing in the scent that had fixated him for weeks now, even before he knew what it was doing or why.  
  
Kurt didn’t exactly relax into Puck, but he didn’t move away, didn’t quake in his no-doubt expensive-ass boots, and Puck licked his lips, sniffing along Kurt's collarbone and neck.  
  
"You're growling again," Kurt whispered.  
  
Puck didn't respond, because he honestly couldn't put enough words together for a witty retort. He just wanted that scent, to keep it as close as he could. He didn't notice when he pulled Kurt in, or how close, until he felt Kurt's heartbeat through their shirts.  
  
His growling grew in intensity when Puck smelled something new in Kurt's scent. He caught the note of arousal there before he felt Kurt's body react, before he felt his own body reacting. Arousal snapped so thick and crisp in the air that all of Puck’s arguments and excuses crumpled away as the seconds crept on.  
  
Puck closed his eyes. He slipped a hand under Kurt's shirt; the second his fingertips touched Kurt's warm skin, Kurt’s breath drew in shakily. Another heavy wave of arousal hit Puck's nose and he shuddered, his hand spasming on Kurt's waist.  
  
He wanted that scent. He hadn't thought Kurt's smell could be improved upon, but the added arousal made Puck's head spin. He couldn't even be bothered when he realized his hips were grinding into Kurt's.  
  
At some point he started to trail his tongue up Kurt's neck, and Kurt's voice hitched, breathy and high like a girl's. Puck rumbled low in his throat, satisfied at Kurt's response. Every lick was like tripling the intensity of how Kurt smelled, mixed with the delicious saltiness of his skin. Puck was sure he could get off on just this, just licking Kurt for a little while, breathing him in.  
  
They were barely a foot away from the piano, so it wasn't difficult for Puck to open his eyes just long enough to push Kurt back up against it; Kurt, who was all shades of aroused, whose scent hadn't had an ounce of fear in it since Puck began to touch him. Kurt hissed when his back made contact with the edge of the piano, but he didn't push him away, didn't stop Puck's flow at all. After a few seconds, Kurt's hand even came up to rest on the small of Puck's back, and that simple contact sent a thrill up Puck's spine, so intense that Puck buried his face in the curve of Kurt's neck to keep from howling. Kurt matched the strangled howl with a moan of his own.  
  
Kurt's hips rolled up to meet Puck's with every lick, every breath. Slow, careful, focused. As focused as Puck was on the way that every sniff made Kurt shiver, and every lick made Kurt whimper.  
  
Kurt just smelled so  _good_ , and it felt so good to not have to restrain himself, not to sit on the fact that every time Kurt passed by, Puck wanted to grab him and pull him close, tell everyone else to fuck off and stay away. He didn't have to, he could just take a slow, deep breath and let the rest of the room fall to the wayside in favor of that thick, spiced arousal. He could taste the arousal in Kurt's sweat, could feel it under his grip as Kurt arched up to him.  
  
Puck didn't notice when licks became nibbles, but Kurt did, suddenly holding Puck that much tighter. Puck just wanted to taste, wanted to have every sense completely filled by Kurt instead of struggling to keep it all from overwhelming him all the time. Puck was  _sick_  of trying to be careful – he wasn't very good at it to begin with, and he knew he was good at  _this_ , at close contact, at doing things that made Kurt let out tiny sighs and made Kurt's nails dig into Puck's back.  
  
The nibbles became bites, and Puck bit down longer and harder each time. Kurt winced, but clung closer, didn't move away.  
  
The door opened, and Puck's head shot up as Kurt jumped. Puck's growl became warning instead of aroused.  
  
Kurt turned, even underneath Puck, and he turned bright red when he saw who was at the door. "Oh my god, Mr. Schuester, this isn't, I –" Puck continued to growl, not moving from Kurt, even as that wonderful scent of arousal started to dissipate. No one was getting closer to Kurt's scent. "I cannot  _believe_  this," Kurt groaned, covering his face in embarrassment.  
  
Mr. Schuester looked almost as embarrassed as Kurt, but his expression was mixed with suspicious concern. "I think it's time you two went home, isn't it?" It wasn't a question.  
  
Puck started moving towards Mr. Schuester, not speaking, but Kurt stopped him, applying the gentlest amount of pressure possible with the hand that still rested on Puck's back in spite of the interruption. Puck blinked, glanced over at Kurt silently. Kurt stared at him. "Let's just do what  _Mr. Schuester_  says, okay? Please?" Kurt said Mr. Schuester's name as if he knew he had to remind Puck who was talking to them.  
  
Kurt extricated himself from between Puck and the piano, and Puck frowned deeply, his eyes darting from Kurt to Mr. Schuester repeatedly.  
  
"Are you okay there, Puck?" Mr. Schuester asked.  
  
Puck closed his eyes for a moment, shaking his head as the distance from Kurt allowed his thoughts to clear somewhat. He replayed the last few minutes in his head, and they felt foreign, like a movie that he only vaguely remembered watching.  
  
Except that he could still smell Kurt, could still taste Kurt in his mouth.  
  
He opened his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm cool." Even as he said that, his brain was scrambling to justify what had just happened. To remind him that he had to be losing his mind because of the full moon tomorrow night. That he was only reacting to Kurt's scent, not to Kurt's body against his.  
  
Mr. Schuester looked doubtful. Kurt interjected, "He's fine, Mr. Schuester.  _I'm_  fine. We were just leaving." Kurt glanced over at Puck warily. "I'm giving you a ride, right?"  
  
Puck didn't say anything. He grabbed his bag from where he'd left it, and kept himself a few feet from Kurt while he waited for the teenager to get going. Kurt straightened his shirt and took a deep breath before nodding at Mr. Schuester and heading for the door. Puck started to follow.  
  
"Hey." Puck turned and looked at Mr. Schuester. "Are you sure you're going to be okay? I can give you a ride if you need."  
  
Puck stared at Mr. Schuester for a moment. As a response, he settled on rolling his eyes, annoyed at the Spanish teacher's stupidity.  
  
As Puck left the room, he ignored the disappointed look Mr. Schuester threw at him. He had more important things to deal with.  
  
Like the fact that becoming a werewolf had apparently – definitely – turned him gay for Kurt Hummel's scent.  
  
He wasn't going to bother even  _trying_  to come into school tomorrow. Screw that.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Full moon- the transformation.

The ride home was tense, regardless of what Kurt tried to make it. After the mortification of having a teacher walk in on what should have been a private moment, Kurt insisted that Puck sit in the backseat. Puck didn't so much argue as he stared back blankly. Kurt pointed out that if Puck couldn't control himself in the passenger seat, they'd risk a car accident.  
  
Puck really couldn't argue the point, and was still in shock that he was in a situation where he'd need to, so he simply got into the back of Kurt's truck and tried not to think about how sitting in Kurt's car was basically being surrounded by Kurt's scent.  
  
Kurt babbled about something involving clothes. Puck figured it was to fill the air and distract from the low arousal that still seasoned the air. He didn't care about runway shows; he knew Kurt knew he didn't care either.  
  
It wasn't as if Puck  _could_  listen anyway. Far too much of his attention and energy was focused on not leaning forward and sniffing Kurt again. Puck's hands were fists pressed against his thighs, hard enough to hurt. His breathing was intentionally quick and shallow, to keep from paying too much attention to Kurt.  
  
Kurt dropped him off, and Puck got out as fast as possible, grunting out a sound he hoped resembled "thanks".  
  
He went straight upstairs when he got in, ignoring his sister and closing the door behind him. He threw his bag against the wall with and angry noise, and realized that he was shaking.  
  
Whatever had just happened could  _never_  happen again. Puck wasn't sure if he meant what he'd done with Kurt (a moment intense enough that Puck really couldn't understand the why's and how's), but he definitely meant how he'd reacted when Schuester had walked in.  
  
Had Kurt not said anything, Puck was pretty sure he would have gone after Schue. There wasn't any question about what he would have done to Schue, either, if given the opportunity. It had taken several seconds before Puck even recognized who Schue was; all he registered was that someone had stopped him and Kurt, and someone had gotten in the way. Puck didn't know why, but he'd been so  _sure_  that Schue might hurt Kurt, or try to separate the two of them, that he'd very nearly snapped.  
  
Puck did a lot of things. A lot of stupid, reckless, violent things, but going at a teacher like that? Even he knew how colossally insane that was. He was lucky Hummel had insisted on him stopping, that Hummel had the sense to figure out what it was Puck wanted to do.  
  
This was bad. Trouble. Scary, even, and Puck didn't know what to do to make it stop. Who to call. It wasn't like he could call up Finn on this one, or Mike Chang. He definitely wasn't texting one of the chicks- it wasn't like Santana would even answer a message from him anyway. None of the teachers could help him, even the ones that had attempted to extend a feeble hand his way. Miss Pillsbury and Mr. Schuester didn't get it, and even if they did, he  _definitely_  wasn't go to approach Mr. Schuester, not now, anyway. For a brief second, Puck thought about calling Quinn. It lasted about as long as it took to think that thought before he realized that if he called her, he'd probably hear Sam mouthing breathing somewhere in the background while she occasionally interrupt Puck's idiotic rambling to tell Sam that 'no, he still couldn't tap that'. Yeah, no.  
  
And well, Puck wasn't calling Hummel.  
  
Puck turned off the light- ignoring the fact that even with all the lights off, it took him virtually no time to adjust and see clearly- and made his way towards his bed. He dropped down to sit on the mattress, not caring that he hadn't bothered to change. He looked down at his feet and saw Hummel's scarf, that purple and black thing that he'd abandoned in horror earlier in the week. After what had just happened between him and Kurt at the school, it seemed stupid to have been so horrified by  _that_ , when there were a million more bizarre and terrifying possibilities.  
  
It wasn't like Puck was against violence. He loved it, thrived off of it. But there were still things that Noah Puckerman didn't do. And he'd very nearly wailed on both friends and a teacher, had started doing  _something_  that felt like hooking up with  _Kurt Hummel_    
  
He removed his sneakers and tossed them across the room before dropping back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.  
  
The worst part was that none of it had  _helped_. He wasn't calmer now; if anything, there was more confusion, more irritation, more anger, he just couldn't process it. It was like a thick cloud of some sort of loser emo kid thing, if Puck had ever met a loser emo kid who could have punched a hole through their best friend's face. It was all still there, under his skin.  
  
Well, he thought before falling into a fitful sleep, it was going to be under his skin for a little while longer.  
  
  
  
  
By five in the evening, Puck was was sure that he was dying.  
  
Alone in the house, he stumbled out of his room in his sweat pants. Somewhere before noon, between the sweats and the salt in his eyes, and the burning skin, he'd shed the jeans and t-shirt he'd fallen asleep in. His body was so warm that it  _hurt_. If he moved too fast, his head spun, so he padded his, clumsily, down the hall, his hand on the wall to keep himself steady.  
  
He'd never had a heart attack, but he wondered if it felt anything like this. Like his heart was threatening to burst under his skin. His chest ached; no, it throbbed in pain. He barely made it into the bathroom before nearly collapsing, his legs giving out temporarily under the weight of pain and fever. Puck managed to grab onto the sink before falling completely, trying to ignore the gasp that left his mouth.  
  
His mother and sister were visiting their grandparents. So that before the change, he'd be able to be alone. Because mom couldn't help, and couldn't stand to watch. He got it.  
  
Puck gripped the sink like a lifeline, swaying in place. The world wavered, like air on top of a hot grill. He shook his head, and everything in front of him seemed to shake with it. Nausea rose up in his throat, but he tried to push it down.  
  
It was so  _damn_  hot.  
  
Shaky fingers sought out the faucet, even when Puck's vision blurred with sweat. He turned the water on, inhaling a quick breath at the feel of the cold water hitting his hand. He ran his wet hand over his face, the water only a momentary relief, and not a very big one at that. He shivered again, felt goosebumps rise on his body. He choked on pained noises.  
  
For a moment, he looked up at his face. He looked like hell, but the amber in his eyes scared him more. He jumped back from his own reflection, a mistake that made him stumble, fall, hit the floor with his head meeting the wall on the way down.  
  
"Son of a..." Puck hissed in pain, curling up to cradle his head. The linoleum was cool, but all it did was serve as a painful contrast to his body temperature.  
  
While the whole of his body trembled, his legs jerked, spasmed, shuddered. For a brief, surely deluded second, there's no pain there; just a horrible creeping feeling, crawling up and down his calves. The crawling grew, pulsed under his skin, slithered over it, like Puck imagined a crowd of ants would. He wanted to reach down, hold them in place just to stop the  _movement_ , to rub away the  _feeling_. The crawling became a pressure became a soreness became pain again, not like the headaches, not like the aching body pains, not like the way that it felt when his head had hit the wall.  
  
He tried to breath, to not make a sound, to man up and choke through it. Shaky, deep breaths hurt his lungs.  
  
The next shot of pain was in his spine, making him arch back and let out a strangled cry. It didn't let up; shock after shock exploded up his spine, curving it, stretching it, making Puck wish that his previous certainty had been true. Every shock made him jerk up from the floor before falling brokenly back. His fingers scrambled against the floor beneath him, desperate for something to hold onto. He grabbed the side of the tub for only a second before his back exploded in pain again, and he lost his grip.  
  
He could feel his insides  _expanding_. He was  _not_  going to scream. Not alone in an empty house.  
  
His arms were next. The left first, twitching and throbbing and feeling like it was _warping_ , and then the right joined. The crawling feeling started with a vengeance, only with his arms he could claw, he could push at his skin as if he could rip it away, and with the skin, the feeling. It didn't work, and his desperate clawing at the growing feeling was ceased when the pain from his back blasted across his shoulder blades, twisting his arms into unnatural positions. Puck could  _swear_  he heard bones shatter. It felt like his entire body was splintering, regardless.  
  
He bit down on his tongue; he winced. He tasted blood. He growled. He whimpered.  
  
Puck needed to get up off the floor. He tried to stand up, his legs  _twisted_ , turned, and he found himself dragging his body towards the bathroom door. His eyes stung, and he told himself it was just sweat. He dragged himself halfway through the door before those shocks and blasts of pain moved across his torso, up his spine, past his neck.  
  
His face felt like it was shattering, exploding, imploding, all at once. Stretching, moving, and every rearrangement was another hit to the face with a brick. He could feel it changing more clearly than he'd felt the rest of the changes; he could feel his jaw grow and shatter and reform, and he ended up on his back, still arching upwards in pain, as if distance from the floor would somehow mitigate the pain.  
  
He could feel his  _ears_  move on his head, and it was that sudden, tearing, splitting pain that made him scream. A scream warped by a mouth that didn't move the way that it was supposed to, that it was used to. A scream that made his throat raw until he felt his throat expand like the rest of him. A scream that became a pained, almost yelping howl, as he stopped arching his back and dropped back to the floor hard.  
  
Once, drunkenly, Puck had hurled beer bottles across the room in a fit of immaturity, during some stupid argument. When he was done, he'd scooped up all the shattered glass by hand. Shards had pressed into, popped open his skin, and even half-stupidly numb, it'd hurt like a bitch.  
  
When his fingers erupted into claws, it was a hundred times worse in reverse, like glass stabbing him from the inside. When his fingers broke themselves, lengthened, reshattered, recurved, he would have screamed if he was able, if his vocal chords weren't so thickly twisted in their reforming that he couldn't make a sound.  
  
Puck's temperature spiked, and along all the pain, he felt like his skin was melting off of him. He frantically tried to move, tried to use his hands to scratch or claw the feeling away, but his hands weren't hands anymore, and they didn't move the way they should, not in this half-transformed state. The fur didn't so much grow as unfurl from underneath skin that felt like it was dissolving, and Puck's entire body twitched like a dying animal, all nerve-endings and spasms.  
  
He still felt like he was  _expanding_ , even as his mouth already felt too large, and his legs felt too thick. The fur, unfamiliar and unwanted, meant his body  _itched_  too, on top of all the pain and the strangeness.  
  
Suddenly, the pain came to a stop, even as his head still spun and his stomach still wrenched nauseously. He stayed tense on the floor for a moment, shivering, trying to recover.  
  
And it was then, when the pain was gone, and for the first time in days that his head didn't throb, that Puck's mind began to  _shift_  sharply.  
  
He didn't notice it at first, when he first struggled up. He was too confused by how much larger he felt in the hallway. He didn't notice the fact that it felt like his mind was suddenly clearer, simpler.  
  
It wasn't that he wasn't  _Puck_  still, because he was. But as he stood up, as the pain became suddenly as easy to shake away as water on wet fur, it felt like all the complicated (human) bullshit that he'd been carrying just didn't matter. The worry, the panic- it was gone. All of it.  
  
It was easier to lope down the stairs on all fours than try to maneuver them on two legs.  
  
Puck didn't even waste time being surprised that he wasn't more alarmed. He couldn't bring himself to. The pain was done, there was nothing threatening him...it wasn't worth it. He sniffed the air, smelling the familiar surroundings through a new nose, one better suited to the task. Each scent was more distinct than he'd thought possible, every sound more fascinating.  
  
He made his way through the kitchen; the back door was unlocked as always. He couldn't open it, couldn't jostle the knob. So after a moment of looking at it, he threw his body weight against it, and the door fell under one hard impact. Puck nearly fell over, still not used to the way his new legs balanced themselves, how they bent the wrong way.  
  
He sniffed the outside air; he growled low in his throat as his stomach rumbled.  
  
He was starving.  
  
  
  
Puck's fur was dark, wet, and matted with blood. Still unsatisfied, he abandoned the cow carcass that had served as a meal and proceeded to sniff around the edges of town. At one point, he came back to the school, where he'd been bit in the first place.  
  
Human or werewolf, Puck wasn't a big fan of WMHS. He sniffed at the doors for a few minutes before becoming bored and anxious. He moved on.  
  
He wanted a lot of things, but mainly he wanted something to chase down. Full moon nights, Lima was more of a boring desert than it already was, and Puck growled at the fact that he could run for miles and see nothing but houses turning off their lights and closing their blinds. He didn't want to go inside, didn't want to go into house, not when he was too big to fit comfortably, when it would feel like an absurdly shaped cage.  
  
He didn't realize where he was moving towards- just wanted to keep moving, find something. He didn't think about it; hadn't thought about any of what he was doing, since the night started. As soon as an idea fell into his head, he'd ended up doing it. He was hungry; he found a field full of food. When he was finished, he wandered for a while longer. With everyone safely tucked away for the night, being a werewolf wasn't very interesting past the pain.  
  
The Hummel house wasn't difficult to find. He hadn't been there too many times, but as he got closer, it was easy enough to pick up the scent and follow it.  
  
For some reason- some reason that Puck didn't care to figure out- Kurt was standing by his trash, dumping his garbage for the night, instead of having done it earlier, or waiting until the morning like everyone else did. If Puck could have smirked, he would have.  
  
He slowly stalked his way to the house, staying just far enough for a moment that Kurt wouldn't notice him. He knew the moment Kurt heard him; Kurt's body stilled, the bag of trash still hovering over the garbage can, his scent suddenly sharp in the air. At the sharpness, Puck stayed still, confused; Kurt  _never_  smelled like that, not for more than a second at a time, but the sharpness wasn't going away; if anything, it was growing.  
  
Puck growled.  
  
Kurt turned his head to look at Puck's slow approach, and blanched.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The full moon encounter...doesn't go quite how Puck would have anticipated. Which is good, all things considered.

Even though he was still holding the garbage bag, Kurt had his hands in front of him. Puck dropped to all fours as he made his way closer. Kurt's scent filled his nose, even when it was marred by its current sharpness. He could hear Kurt's heartbeat, heavy and quick.  
  
He stopped only a foot away from Kurt. Kurt stepped back, stumbled, and Puck growled loudly at him because he couldn't tell him 'stop it'. He wasn't sure if the guy got it; Kurt let out a little gasp and stumbled a little more before coming to a complete stop, dropping the garbage bag in the process.  
  
There's a series of emotions that flicker across Kurt's face, and to be honest, all of them are too complicated for Puck to be able to pick apart right now. He knew what his nose was telling him about Kurt, that was easy enough to read.  
  
He took a padded step forward, his eyes focused on Kurt's face. Kurt swallowed; Puck watched the movement of the teenager's neck.  
  
Then, hesitantly, his voice trembling, Kurt spoke. "Puckerman?" Puck took another step forward, but tilted his head at the name. "Look, you've gone this long at school _not_  killing me, can we go one more night?" His voice hitched, high and funny. " _Please_?"  
  
The 'please' was enough to make Puck hesitate, even if following words was a trial for him. It was how Kurt's voice wavered, and how unfamiliar that sound was.  
  
It took only a few seconds before he promptly decided that he disliked the sound as much as he disliked the sharpness in Kurt's scent. He took a few steps closer. Puck stopped momentarily, sniffing the air in front of Kurt. Kurt's eyes were wide, his mouth just the slightest bit open, and his breathing was loud, shallow.  
  
Puck started to make his way around Kurt, circling him. Kurt tried to take a step back, and nearly tumbled into Puck. Kurt bit off a shriek, clamping his mouth over his hands. Puck pushed back against the toppling teenager, his side pushing against Kurt's arm. For a moment, Kurt stumbled forward before regaining his balance. Big as he was, Puck practically surrounded Kurt the entire time that he was circling. Through his fur, he could feel the heat off Kurt's body. He can feel Kurt shiver. A low, rumbling growl reverberates in Puck's own chest.  
  
"I  _really_  don't need to be eaten tonight, oh my god..." Kurt is muttering under his breath, the words oddly spaced from his shaking. "Good Puckerman, don't eat me..." Puck let out a loud breath through his nose. "Look...it  _is_  you, right, Puck?" Puck let out another breath. "You can understand me, right? So could you...please...just..." Kurt took a gulp of breath while his scent spiked again and his heart hammered as if it were trying to deafen Puck. "If you're  _not_  going to eat me...could you stop? The growling?"  
  
Puck stops moving, his body still wrapped halfway around Kurt's body. Kurt stared at him. After a moment, Puck stopped growling, even though it took far more of a concerted effort than he would have liked.  
  
Kurt tried to smile, a pale, weak smile that fell flat when paired with that acrid edge to his scent. "...Thank you." He tried to move to the side, the one place where Puck wasn't blocking his path. Puck quickly moved to block that direction, letting out a short, warning growl until Kurt stayed still. "Okay, fine. Staying still." Puck grew quiet again.  
  
Puck started to sniff at Kurt, and Kurt jumped. Without having to lift his head very much, Puck could comfortably sniff around the top half of Kurt's torso, lifting his arms with his snout. Kurt still trembled, but he'd stopped trying to move so much.  
  
"It's  _cold_  out here, Puck, I need to get in _side_ ," Kurt pleaded. Puck's response was to curl around him more tightly. Kurt didn't relax. "What do you  _want_? I can't exactly climb on your back on go on a midnight ride, Puckerman, I'm not Paul Revere!" Kurt's voice was getting high again, and Puck shook his head, his snout accidentally hitting against Kurt and making him yelp.  
  
Puck wasn't sure, aside from figuring out all the tiny details of Kurt's scent past the sharpness. His nose was far more sensitive to Kurt's scent than it was as a human. He could smell one of the jocks- Karofsky, Puck thought- along Kurt's side, and the metal of locker on the other. He could smell the bruising, the blood right under the surface mixed in with the metal. He could smell the salad Kurt had for dinner, and the sandwich he'd had for lunch. The cherry of his chapstick. The strange scents of his lotions that Puck didn't know the names of.  
  
He pushed at one of the bruises gently and let out a whine, looking up at Kurt. Kurt hissed, his hand coming up to the bruise. "Do you  _mind_?" Puck nudged again. " _What_?" Irritated, Puck continued to nudge at different bruises. The ones he smelled along Kurt's side, bumping Kurt's hip with the top of his head, tilting his head up to push against the bruises on Kurt's back.  
  
"Congratulations, you found all of them," Kurt murmured. "Do you want a  _treat_  now?" Puck growled. Kurt looked away, and Puck could smell the blood rushing to Kurt's cheeks. "I don't seriously need to  _explain_ , do I?" When he turned back to look at Puck, Puck was still staring at him. Kurt sighed. "It was your  _pals_." Puck let out a breath through his nose again. "The same tired caveman aggression because they don't know how to use big boy words." Puck started growling again, his ears going back on his head. Kurt held his breath for a moment. "Uh...Puck...they aren't here. Karofsky and friends. So..."  
  
Puck huffed in irritation, before continuing to sniff at the bruises for a minute. Kurt was trying to stay still, but he wriggled at the touch of Puck's snout, even through his clothes. Puck dipped his head and pressed his snout against Kurt's hip a little too hard, and Kurt made another noise of pain. Stopping, Puck shoved his nose under Kurt's arm, an awkward position since when he lifted his head, the top of it was easily as tall, if not taller than Kurt's shoulder.  
  
Kurt startled, staring down at Puck's head. "What are you  _doing_?" he hissed. "I'm  _not_ playing with the big scary wolf, okay? I've got to get inside. It's cold, and I've got school, not to mention what'll happen if my dad gets-" Puck ignored all the words and complaints. They bore him. "Ugh. You're not going to let me move, are you?" Puck didn't move. "Okay, okay, let's make a deal. I, uh..." Kurt lifted his hand delicately, his face twisting slightly in disgust. His fingers wiggled in gross anticipation of his next action. "I'll like, scratch behind your ears or something." Puck tilted his head.  
  
Taking a long breath, Kurt slowly dropped his fingers into the fur behind Puck's ear. Before Puck could even give a rumble of approval, Kurt yanked his hand away. "Oh _gross_ , Puck, there's like..." There was a pause as the sharpness grew again in his scent. Kurt's voice came out slightly weaker. "...that's blood, isn't it?" Annoyed, Puck shoved at Kurt with the top of his head. "You're going to get it all  _over_  me, Puck!"  
  
Kurt's breath was shallow and fast again.  
  
Puck shoved Kurt with his nose, and Kurt nearly fell over Puck's back. "Dammit, Puck, stop that! Just tell me what you want! Please, and I'll do it, just leave me alone and let me go back inside!" There wasn't a desperate plea to his voice; it was more of a belligerent, frustrated demand. The fact that he tensed, recoiled slightly, meant that he immediately regretted the tone, but Puck didn't mind so much. It made more sense than the change in Kurt's scent tonight. "I'm so not going to be able to look you in the face tomorrow."  
  
Gingerly, Kurt tried to place his hand back on Puck's head. Puck bowed his head as Kurt, slowly, started to scratch. He growled again, this time slower and more quietly. Kurt froze for a moment, but started again with a shaky sigh.  
  
"This is disgusting, I'll have you know," his voice was steadier than the rest of now. Puck wished he'd shut up and just scratch and smell good, but he was sick of snarling at Kurt. "I'm never going to get the stains, or the  _dog_  smell out, and I like these pants, they're great for lounging..." As he talked, still rambling indignantly, the sharp edge on his scent lessened. It didn't vanish, not entirely, but there was improvement.  
  
Kurt must have felt Puck relax, because he started to take a slow, careful step towards the house. Puck placed a large paw/claw over Kurt's foot. Kurt paused for a minute, before sighing. "Look, I'm as delighted as the next person that you're not trying to make me a stylish and no doubt delicious dinner course, but I need to get inside. So...why don't you go...and do whatever...wolf stuff it is you do. Okay? Okay." He took another step towards the door, his hand leaving Puck's fur.  
  
Puck let him. And then took a step in the same direction.  
  
"Oh no," Kurt declared. "No, no, no. So not happening." Kurt took another step. So did Puck. " _No_. Bad Puck. You wouldn't want to be in my house right now if you weren't all dogged-out or whatever." Puck snorted. "Okay, I don't know, maybe you would. You've been  _delightfully_  bizarre recently, if you'll pardon the sarcasm."  
  
All the talking was annoying, especially considering that Puck could only register the simplest parts of sentences. The 'no', the 'bad', the 'dog', chunks like that made Puck growl for a moment, scratch at the yard, and then start making his way towards the door himself. He knew where Kurt was heading.  
  
Kurt dashed in front of Puck, until he seemed to notice that Puck was, in fact, an overlarge werewolf and that running wasn't the best idea. He stalled directly in front of the doorway, as if he was somehow an obstacle in Puck's path. "Now, listen here, Puckerman, I absolutely can _not_  have you in my house. My  _dad_  is in there!" Puck growled grumpily. "Exactly my  _point_. If you're going to be growling and threatening and..." Kurt swallowed, and Puck watched his throat move. "What am I supposed to do if my dad sees you, huh? He'll freak!"  
  
Puck stretched. He was low against the ground, stretching out his spine with a leisurely few cracks. He shook his head casually, unimpressed.  
  
Taking a deep breath, Kurt raised a hand to the bridge of his nose. "I can't. I just can't." He glanced both ways down the street, and then poked his head into his house for a minute. Puck moved in closer, bumping against Kurt's side as he became sick of waiting for Kurt to just go inside. "You have to be  _quiet_. I know this is difficult when you're...normal or whatever, but you can't start barking or whatever."  
  
Slowly, Kurt opened the door. At first, he opened it just enough for him to go inside, but, after glancing back over his shoulder at Puck, he opened it wider, pressing his body against the door as Puck pushed past him.  
  
"Why would he have any more manners as a dog? That'd be crazy," Kurt murmured under his breath. Puck stepped on Kurt's foot with his back paw while Kurt closed the front door. " _Ow_ , geez, baby much? Grow up, Puckerman."  
  
Once inside, Puck reared up on two legs, his snout nearly brushing the ceiling. Sniffing the air, he could smell Kurt all over the room. Could smell Finn, Carole, and Burt. He growled at the other scents, and jerked his head around to Kurt when that disturbingly acrid edge shot through Kurt's scent.  
  
Kurt was staring at him, pale and swallowing again. His eyes were wide. Puck moved closer to him. Kurt flinched, holding his hands out in front of him. "Don't. I let you in the house. This towering thing? Not okay." Puck took another step forward, his head lowered to keep looking in Kurt's eyes. " _No_." Kurt's voice got a little high, just shrill enough that Puck stilled, shook his head.  
  
For a long moment, Puck, huge in the space of the front of Kurt's house, kept his eyes on Kurt. He was silent, not even a growl escaping him. All that could be heard between the two of them was their breathing; Puck's slow breathes through his nose and Kurt's shallow, quickened, shaky breaths.  
  
Puck let out a loud breath through his nose, impatient, before dropping back to all fours before turning away from Kurt and moving towards the open basement door. He could smell Kurt's bedroom; he'd never been in it, but he could smell how strongly the room smelled of Kurt and Kurt's many scented oils and lotions.  
  
"Where are you-" Kurt started to hiss as he followed Puck, who was busy padding his way down the steps that were far too narrow for him to move comfortably. "If you get stuck on these steps, I'm not responsible for what I do in the morning."  
  
Puck managed to squeeze himself down the steps. He didn't bother to look around the room, moving only when Kurt tried to work his way around Puck's large frame.  
  
"So you've pushed your way into my bedroom." Kurt's hand drops into the fur of Puck's neck. He freezes for a moment, shuddering a little at the contact, before hesitantly giving Puck a quick scratch. He sighed loudly, dramatically. "I hope you're happy, and don't touch anything because I really don't want to explain or have to clean any of those stains out of my couch."  
  
Puck dropped himself onto the floor with a giant  _whump_ , one that made Kurt jump and nearly shriek. Kurt covered his mouth immediately. Puck merely blinked at him, letting his head rest on his front paws.  
  
While a lot of things were too complex for Puck to be bothered with right now, he was fully aware of what he was doing at the moment. He'd dropped himself down directly at the bottom of the steps, in the entrance of the basement, effectively blocking off the path unless he decided to get up and move. He made sure he was comfortable, and watched Kurt stare at him.  
  
Kurt threw his hands up. "Whatever, Puck. I'm washing my face and starting my nightly ritual." Kurt's scent was still sharp, but his voice didn't waver as much as it had moments before. He ducked into the bathroom- an action that made Puck lift his head for a moment before he was satisfied that Kurt wasn't going very far. After a few minutes, Kurt came back out and sat down primly at his vanity.  
  
Puck wasn't patient on a good day, and watching Kurt at the vanity was  _boring_. On top of being boring, Kurt kept opening up all his cream and toner bottles, all of which made Puck's nose itch. He'd grown used to the undertone of the scents on Kurt, but wasn't a fan of any of them on their own. At least, under the product, the uncomfortable acrid edge was starting to dull.  
  
Puck let out a little huff of irritated air. Kurt didn't notice, except to throw a cautionary look at Puck over his shoulder. Puck made a snuffling sound, his nose against the rug he'd laid on. A twitch from Kurt, but no response.  
  
He let out a whine. A whimper. He saw Kurt pause, take breath, and continue his ritual. He whined louder.  
  
Frustrated, Puck got back up on all fours and stalked over to Kurt. He bowed his head and shoved Kurt in the back.  
  
" _What_?" Kurt snapped. Puck stayed where he was. "Look, I need to finish this or I can't sleep, and...and..." Kurt made a frustrated noise of his own, one that turned into another high-pitched almost-yelp when Puck started another soft growl. "All right, Puckerman, I get it." He turned around to face Puck. Puck waited expectantly. "You want my attention, you have it. Now what?"  
  
Puck didn't really know what, and focusing on that sentence took quite a bit of effort in and of itself. He dropped his head against Kurt's legs. Not relaxing; demanding notice by invading Kurt's space. Being surrounded pleasantly by Kurt's scent all around him.  
  
"Noah Puckerman, you've managed to destroy these pants, possibly permanently, and you're determined to try and destroy my skincare routine as well." Puck made a movement that could almost qualify as a shrug, lifting his head just enough to drop it back down. Kurt's face twisted up slightly. "I'm not petting you again. You're flithy, for one, and I'm taking that flith with me to bed." Too many words. "You're  _dirty_ , Puck. This is  _gross_. How many ways can I say it?"  
  
Puck didn't really care all that much, and didn't move.  
  
There was a strangeness to all of this that even Puck could register, but he blamed it on Kurt's scent- he'd been able to do that with everything else that'd he'd been doing recently- and couldn't work up the energy to be bothered. Kurt smelled good, and the scent was calming. That was good enough.  
  
"If you're going to do this, at least..." Kurt's lip curled and his hand was frozen in the air, halfway between recoiling from the moist, matted fur and going to pet it. "Let me clean your fur, okay?" Puck lifted his head, tilting it. He understood  _that_  just fine. "Don't give me that look, Puck, I'm not really thrilled about it either, but I don't want my father coming down here while my room looks like you tracked a bod-" Kurt trailed off, looking faintly disturbed. "Let me get some rags and water."  
  
Puck reluctantly move off of Kurt, letting him run into the bathroom and dig around for a few minutes. Puck settled back down on the floor.  
  
Kurt sighed when he came back out, looking at Puck with a slightly pained expression. "I'm not entirely sure what you owe me, but after this past week? We will  _definitely_  be discussing it later." 'Later' could have meant never, for all Puck cared, so aside from a slight ear twitch at the sound of Kurt's voice, he didn't respond.  
  
Gingerly, Kurt knelt down beside Puck, with a basin of what smelled like soapy water in one hand, and a comb in the other. "At least this way you won't be a complete mess in the morning," Kurt said softly, placing the basin down beside him. He started in on cleaning sections of Puck's fur, wetting them and combing them out, occasionally making a face and a comment about the smell of wet dog.  
  
Puck isn't listening. Laying his head back down on his paws, he let Kurt continue to speak. It wasn't long before Puck started to fall asleep, surrounded by Kurt's scent as the sharpness slowly faded from it.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In true Puckerman fashion, mortification gives way to pure, unadulterated BS...and then Puck notices something off about Kurt and it turns into concern.

Puck had never had to ride to school wearing Finn's clothes before. To be fair, he'd never woken up naked on a dude's floor before either, and that was way gayer than the gym t-shirt and jeans that he was sporting right now. Even if he did had to go commando in another guy's jeans.  
  
Actually, under further consideration, pretty much everything about the morning after the full moon  _blew_. He'd rather the pain of that first bite to the increasing embarrassment that he was feeling. An embarrassment that was compounded by how heady, how big, Kurt's scent was at the moment.  
  
At least physically Puck felt fine. Better than fine. His body wasn't nearly as tense anymore, and for the first time in weeks he didn't feel like he had a fever, or that he was likely to explode out of his skin. He did feel like he needed to rough up a few nerds, but that was just to save face.  
  
Kurt, fortunately, didn't make a big deal about it while they were getting ready for school. He'd been dressed by the time Puck woke up, as gaily put together as he ever was, in some dark green "military if Katy Perry dancers were in the military" get up. He didn't bring up Puck being naked, instead just pointing to the pile of Finn's clothes that he'd grabbed from last time Finn had been over. He didn't bring up the fact that Puck had shown up out of nowhere last night, all wolfed-out and pushy, and instead just shoved a plate of eggs and turkey bacon into Puck's hands. Kurt definitely didn't bring up the fact that Puck had fallen asleep while Kurt essentially  _cleaned_  him, except for a mumbled comment about towels that Puck was pretty sure that Kurt didn't think he heard.  
  
So getting ready was done mostly in silence. It was about five minutes into the car ride that Kurt decided he needed to talk.  
  
"We need to talk."  
  
Puck raised an eyebrow at him. "Like hell we do, Hummel. I'm going to school, and we're  _not_  talking."  
  
Kurt couldn't turn to him without breaking his concentration on the road. So he glared at the windshield instead. "Oh no, Puck. You don't get to do that." Puck opened his mouth, about to shut Kurt the hell up, but Kurt barreled on, "Over the past weeks I've been sniffed, followed, tracked- apparently- and, as of last night scared half to death. Not to mention  _I cleaned blood out of your fur_  and had to play 'avoid my father all this morning. So while I appreciate that, up until last night at least, you kept the creepoid to a minimum, I think I have the right to figure out what is going on." Puck was silent, because, well, he couldn't debate that. Kurt sighed. "Now, honestly: are you still claiming this isn't a gay thing?"  
  
Puck's eyes narrowed. "I'm sure. Next question."  
  
There was that pinched look of irritation. "Puck, please don't do this. We both know that what happened the other day, before we were embarrassingly interrupted, wasn't the most heterosexual moment of your life." Puck slouched in his seat, scowling. "And I don't know how much you remember about last night, but, all things considered, you were fairly kind. And by "all things considered," I mean you didn't attempt to rip my throat out."  
  
"My bad," Puck deadpanned. Kurt's SUV was too small, Puck decided. With the heat turned up like it was to make up for Puck's lack of a jacket, the whole thing smelled like heat and leather and Kurt, and the only pro of that situation was that all of that overpowered the gay-ass traces of Finn's scent that still clung to the t-shirt, in spite of having been washed.  
  
They hit a red light, and Kurt turned to face Puck, his face a vicious display of something that was probably more hurt than fear, because it was the same look he would give whenever he was sick of being dumpstered. "What the  _hell's_  your problem, Puckerman?" He demanded. "I'm not doing anything to you. Stop acting like it's my fault!"  
  
Wasn't doing anything to him? Just smelling where Kurt had been was enough to make Puck's stomach weird- not bad weird, except that a dude was causing it- and lose his concentration. Girls didn't screw his head up like this; hell, Quinn didn't, not anymore. So whatever was happening, Puck wasn't taking the whole blame because it wasn't all him. It couldn't be.  
  
But...Kurt wasn't kind of right too. Kurt hadn't avoided, or encouraged, or done any of the crap he did when he was pursuing a guy- Puck had watched the Finn thing go down- so getting pissed at Kurt was just getting extra agitated for no reason.  
  
Didn't mean he wanted to talk about it. "I told you already. You smell..." He damn near says 'like what a hot chick should smell like', but catches that quick and just says, "...good."  
  
"Right, you said that," Kurt replied. The light changed, and he continued to drive. "And you're not exactly the epitome of self-control, as evidenced by most anything you've ever done." Puck rolled his eyes. "So are you planning on continuing this game of sniffing and running, or...?" Kurt lifted one hand off the wheel to brush his hair from his forehead.  
  
"I'm not planning anything."  
  
"Of course you're not." Kurt sighed. "How are you feeling, Puck?"  
  
The change of topic threw Puck for a loop. "Huh?" He blinked, swallowed, and yeah, Kurt's scent was strong enough that he could taste it. He shook his head. "I'm good." He paused. "I feel badass, like after a good practice. Why?"  
  
"Because you've been so up and down since you were bitten it seemed like a good thing to ask," Kurt explained. Puck shrugged. "Look I'm not asking you to sashay down the hallways of McKinley. Your manly strut is more than acceptable. I'm just saying that if this isn't 'gay,' you've got a very funny definition of gay."  
  
Puck didn't want to talk about this anymore, so he changed the topic. "So, was it Karofsky or Azimio that fucked up your back?" Kurt didn't answer. "Oh, yeah, ain't so talky when I'm asking  _you_  questions, huh?"  
  
"That's different. That's none of your business," Kurt said briskly, after a cold, cold moment.  
  
"How's it different? You don't wanna talk about it either, right?" Puck challenged. He sat up further in his seat, finding a conversational foothold and grabbing hold of it. It wasn't that he was using the information to distract, even if that was an excellent side-benefit. No, the smell of locker metal and bruising had bothered him a  _lot_ , even if he knew that sort of thing always happened, and even though he used to be the reason for it. It was an upsetting undercurrent to Kurt's scent, and Puck  _knew_  that it was worse today and last night than it had been before.  
  
Kurt sniffed primly. "Since when do you care?"  
  
Puck just stared at him. Seriously?  
  
"It's unimportant. Just your old brothers-in-arms doing the same moronic things that they've always done. I'm fine."  
  
"You know how easy it would be to figure out which one of them it was, right?" Puck had always had a tendency of speaking without thinking, and finding something that was equally uncomfortable for Kurt as talking about Puck's recent behavior was for Puck wasn't going to change that. "I'm pretty sure I already know the answer because I can  _smell_  it."  
  
"You can smell who pushed me?" Kurt asked incredulously.  
  
"If I lean in close enough? I can smell which shoulder your dad touched before you left the house this morning," Puck replied, shrugging the same way he did whenever he made a vague reference to how badass he was. "I know I was able to smell it last night, and like I said, I'm pretty sure I know who it was, but it's not like I know their scents all like that, get what I'm saying?"  
  
Kurt looked more unsettled than when Puck had started sniffing him in the classroom. He didn't say anything at first; they were at the school (Puck hadn't even registered the familiar scents and sounds of WMHS, not when the leather and Kurt and heat smells were so close), and he was pulling in to the parking lot.  
  
But when he parked and turned off the engine, neither teenager moved from their seat. Puck continued to stare at him- even if he had slouched down further in his seat so that not  _everyone_  saw him just chilling in Kurt's passenger seat like some chick he'd one-night-standed with- and Kurt grabbed his school bag from the back seat. He took off his seat belt, and put the bag over his shoulder.  
  
"Karofsky," Kurt looked up at the roof of the car as he sneered out the name, let the fact that he was furious roll off the name like waves of heat. "It usually is nowadays."  
  
Puck nodded. "Thought so."  
  
"I seriously smell like him?" Kurt looked repulsed, shuddering. "Ugh, that is the least attractive thing I've  _ever_  been told."  
  
"I can smell him on you, it's different," Puck took a moment to try to explain. "It's not like how bad it was with Santana the other day. Could smell a dude on her like he was in the room, practically." He shook his head. "Nah, this is just like, on your side. I can ignore it, sort of." Technically a lie, but whatever.  
  
Kurt chewed on the inside of his cheek. "Is your curiosity sated now?"  
  
Puck severely missed the days when Kurt was neither a nuance nor an object that even floated into his peripheral vision. Sure, Puck had been a long way from body checking Kurt as a daily regimen, but there had been a time when, post-Glee, Kurt didn't even register to him. When little things like Kurt being nervous, or uncomfortable didn't bother him, didn't trigger that same part of his brain that got protective when someone screwed with the girls, like Rachel.   
  
And this wasn't a hundred percent about being bitten by a werewolf, either, Puck had to admit. There was a limit to how much messing with the Glee Club he was comfortable with, nowadays.  
  
"Dude, it's not curiosity," Puck retorted. Then he shrugged, this one more dismissive than the last, even if all that dismissiveness was turned inward. He got out the car, slamming the door behind him. Puck hated being misunderstood, especially when he couldn't, or didn't want to, explain what he meant. But Kurt wasn't getting any of it. So whatever, he'd see him in Glee later.  
  
He heard Kurt closed the door and walk quickly to catch up with Puck. "Wait!"  
  
Puck didn't stop walking, but he glanced at Kurt over his shoulder. "What, Hummel?"  
  
Kurt pressed his lips together before speaking. "You still need to figure out what's going on with u- with you, because having a straight male on my heels is  _weird_ , if not totally inappropriate. I'm sure that even you can understand that. And when you figure all that out, I'm sure you won't have any trouble finding me."  
  
That said, Kurt split off from Puck as soon as they entered the main hallway, rushing off to his own locker. For a minute, Puck watched him make his way through the crowd, keeping an eye out for any morning shenanigans. Confident that none were happening  _now_ , Puck forced himself to make his way to his own locker.  
  
  
  
Weren't werewolves supposed to be badass?  
  
Away from Kurt for most of the day, Puck was able to think about the night before without the embarrassment of being near someone who'd actually been there. He ditched two classes straight in the nurse's office, faking sleep.  
  
Even without feeling like everyone  _knew_  about last night, he felt like a punk. Growing up in Lima, there'd always been stories about werewolves. The stories were crazy enough that even Puck listened and retold them without getting bored. back when his grandparents had been growing up, and werewolves had spent the summer wrecking town, the reason why people had given up on having night-lives during the full moon. At the best, wolves meant property destruction, cattle going missing, general wildlife problems. At worst? Well, it didn't take an idiot to figure out the worst case scenario.  
  
Sure, Puck went and ate a frigging cow, but whatever. He could goo down to McDonald's and do that  _now_. And it wasn't that Puck wanted to run around biting and killing people, no, because that wasn't cool. But spending the evening getting bathed like he was at a damn groomer or something? Wasn't that the  _opposite_  of what was supposed to happen?  
  
He'd dealt with the fever, with the weird enhanced senses, with the day before the full moon. He still had trouble dealing with the fact that he'd made it through the transformation itself, but he had. He at least deserved to be a cool werewolf, and not some lame, pussy one.  
  
Adjusting the strap on his backpack, he was so lost in his own thoughts that he didn't see Mr. Schuester until he nearly ran into him. The only reason they didn't collide was because Mr. Schuester noticed Puck and held out an arm to stop Puck.  
  
"Whoa there." Mr. Schuester quickly removed his hand from Puck's shoulder, which was good, because teachers didn't go around  _touching_  Puck. Well, except for that once, but Ryerson was gross anyway. "Heading to class?"  
  
Puck blinked for a moment, adjusting to the the fact that someone was actually talking to him. After parting ways with Kurt, most people, teachers included, had seen fit to leave Puck mostly to himself. It was probably because the last time the he'd been in school (only two days ago? Seriously?) he'd been on the warpath, fighting with any and everything. So being spoken to directly took a moment's pause.  
  
"Free period."  
  
Mr. Schue raised an eyebrow. "Is it an actual free period?"  
  
Technically, no, but it wasn't like he went to math class anyway. "Yeah."  
  
Still looking doubtful, Mr. Schue motioned with his head towards his office. "Well, if you've got a minute anyway, I wanted to talk to you."  
  
Puck narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "I wasn't here yesterday, so whatever it is, I didn't do it."  
  
"You didn't do anything wrong. I just wanted to talk to you for a minute." Puck hesitated for a moment, before shrugging. Mr. Schue led him to the office, opening the door so that Puck could stroll inside.  
  
Doing a mental inventory on his day, Puck was pretty sure that he hadn't done anything to warrant getting in trouble. Sure, he'd bodychecked Ben Israel, but that was only once, and the kid was coming at him with that damn camera of his, so Puck was justified. Anyway, he knew that twerp hadn't gone running to a teacher about it, so that couldn't have been it.  
  
Mr. Schue sat down at his desk, and motioned for Puck to make himself comfortable. Puck stood by the now closed door, taking off his backpack and putting it on the floor in front of him. He crossed his arms. "What's up, Mr. Schue?"  
  
"I know it's dorky, and I know the last thing you want is a teacher checking up on you," Mr. Schue began, his hands already up in front of him as if he were surrendering, "but I wanted to make sure you were doing okay. I know last night was-"  
  
"Mr. Schue? I'm totally chill," Puck said warily, throwing the spanish teacher a look. "Don't worry about it."  _Bull_ , Puck thought to himself. There was a lot wrong, a lot to freak out about, and a lot to be  _pissed_  about, but hell if he was going to start having hearts to heart to Mr. Schue. There was only so much anti-badass behavior that Puck could engage in during the day before his balls started to recede, he was sure of that.  
  
"Are you sure?"  
  
Puck's shrug was too quick and too defensive. "Yeah, I'm sure."  
  
"Puck..." Mr. Schue sighed, shaking his head. "I know what you're probably thinking."  
  
"You know i'm thinking about ditching and heading to the Bell for nachos?" Puck's tone was only-half sarcastic. The look from Mr. Schue was completely scolding. Puck sighed, rolling his eyes. "Look, no offense, Mr. Schue, but-"  
  
"-I know, I know. You're going to tell me I don't get it, right?" Mr. Schue filled in. Puck pressed his lips together in a thin line. "That doesn't mean I can't lend an ear. Things might have been different for me, but I  _was_  a teenager in Lima, too." Mr. Schue paused, and when Puck didn't immediately interject- instead choosing to look anywhere but at the teacher. "When it's not boring here, it's terrifying. If it's not bullying, it's..." Mr. Schue's voice became a touch dryer than Puck was used to hearing. "...Werewolves." The moment passed, and Mr. Schue continued with his usual gay-ass gusto for life stuff. "It's why I wanted to put Glee back together, to make a place for you guys to have fun, relax. Not to worry about that sort of stuff."  
  
Puck could have pointed out how badly that had turned out for everyone involved. He could pick a random club member at random- like himself, for example: made a chick pregnant, got dumped on the regular, made his best friend hate him, had to give up the kid, and then, icing on the suck-flavored cake, he'd become a werewolf. He wasn't necessarily blaming any of that on Glee, but he was pretty sure it all would have gone better without the club.  
  
Still, he hadn't left yet. "Right."  
  
"Look, it's cool if you think I'm just a crazy teacher." Puck appreciated the permission, he guessed. "But I want to look out for you kids. Anyway I can, I'll be there."  
  
Puck shakes his head. "I don't think so, Mr. Schue." The hesitation in his voice is laced with a touch of amusement.  
  
"Come on, try me, give me your best shot," Mr. Schue insisted. "Nothing's too weird."  
  
"I ate a cow last night." Mr. Schue didn't say anything. Barely even blinked, honestly, and Puck was pretty sure that any reaction was more because Puck actually answered him. "Not like, a Quarterpounder, or a double or whatever."  
  
Mr. Schue raised an eyebrow at him. "I know, Puck."  
  
Puck gestured with his hands as he talked. "No, you  _don't._  It wasn't a super-sized meal because I may or may not have been baked over the weekend." Mr. Schuester didn't comment on Puck's illicit recreational activities either. Puck figured that was because those were public knowledge. "I ate a cow. It made  _noise_."  
  
"I hear you." Mr. Schue took a breath.  
  
Puck barrelled on. "That's not even a couple of super-sized meal. Not even like, ten of them. That's what, seven pounds or something right?" Mr. Schue opened his mouth for a second, and then clamped it shut. "No, like...a real cow."  
  
"Okay." Mr. Schue leaned back in his seat, crossing his legs and folding his arms over his chest. "I imagine that's got to be pretty upsetting for you."  
  
No, not really, Puck doesn't say. He really doesn't care much about the cow. It's a stupid  _cow_  for goodness sake, and not even 'cow' like a totally rank chick or something, like that girl who sits in the front of his science lab, when he goes, and keeps throwing creepy ass looks his way when she thinks he can't see her.  
  
"That's  _weird_."  
  
"A little." Puck stared at him. "Okay, okay, more than a little." Mr. Schue sighed again and looked up at the ceiling for a minute. An action that looked like it was a trend amongst people who Puck talked to for longer than three seconds. "Look, if you're trying to shock me, I'm not going to let you. There were more werewolves when I was younger. I've heard people tell stories before. Now," and Mr. Schue motioned towards the chair on the other side of his desk, "If you want to talk, and it's got to be shocking, that's fine. I think I can handle it."  
  
And Puck had to admit, this was the first time ever that he suspected that Mr. Schuester might actually have a pair on him. Because Puck was a little impressed. More than a little; enough impressed that, after a pause, he pushed himself off from the wall and dragged his backpack over to the chair Mr. Schue had offered him. He sat down, slumped back.  
  
Mr. Schue didn't smile, but his expression wasn't teacher-stern, either. "So. The cow."  
  
Puck swallows. "The cow's just...I don't know, meat or whatever. Was." For some reason, he found himself imagining the horrified looks that Kurt and Rachel both would have given him for that sentence. He shook his head and continued. "It's stupid anyway. What kind of werewolf goes out and snacks on a cow, and that's like, the most badass thing they do, huh?" Puck curses himself, turning to look away. He didn't mean to say it, not like that, not all bared out and honest.  
  
But how often did a teacher really call Puck's bluff and mean it? And not mock him for it? Dude deserved a little respect.  
  
"You were expecting...?" Mr. Schue questioned, motioning at Puck to continue. "What happened?"  
  
"I don't know!" Puck snapped. "Something, something that wasn't..." Totally gay. "Look, that night I got bit? That other wolf was fucking  _badass_. Terrifying.  _I_  nearly shat myself.  _Me._ "  
  
Mr. Schue frowned. "I wouldn't describe that as badass-"  
  
"You're not listening to me, Mr. Schuester," Puck interjected. "That wolf tore my shoulder out because I looked at him funny, or said something wrong or something, I don't know. Me? You know what I did my first full moon?"  
  
"Ate a cow."  
  
"I had a fucking playdate with Queen Hummel."  
  
Mr. Schue clearly wasn't expecting that, his mouth a open for a moment before his face scrunched up in confusion, and he asked, just to be sure, " _Kurt_  Hummel?" Puck nodded, his body tense. "Is he all right?"  
  
"Yeah, he's fine," Puck said, as if that was somehow a nightmarish path for the night to have gone.  
  
"Why don't you tell me what happened, exactly?"  
  
"You wanna know what happened?" Puck's voice was slightly raised, borderline panicked. "I sniffed my way over to Hummel's place, where homegirl was like, taking out the trash. Now, any scary-ass werewolf right now is gonna make Kurt run like a scream queen, right? But  _no_ , apparently I wanted to just sit around and snifff him and sit on his floor like some sort of pet or some crap. Hummel  _washed_  my fur, Mr. Schue. Washed it. Might as well have painted my nails and put a bow in my hair, because that shit was  _that_  homo. I wagged my tail so hard I think I frigging cracked his floor.  _Not_ cool.  
  
"And you know what's less cool, even?" Puck continued, barely aware of Mr. Schue's completely confused expression, "I woke up on his  _floor_. He had to drive my ass into school."  
  
"Puck I-"  
  
"And, to top all that crap off? I've gotta be flying commando in Finn's jeans because they were the only pair in the house that fit me. I hate being a werewolf, this sucks."  
  
Mr. Schue doesn't respond, not right away, and Puck's pretty sure that his little rant was probably the  _exact_  thing that was too much, too queer, and too stupid for Mr. Schue to handle. When Mr. Schue does speak, it's in a very careful, very measured tone. "Do you want to go home, Puck? I'll speak with the nurse, if you need to."  
  
Puck's jaw clenched so tight that it hurt. "No. Dude, that's even lamer. When I skip school, I do it because I want to, because McKinley sucks balls. I don't skip school because I'm  _embarrassed._ "  
  
"It's up to you."  
  
"Damn right it's up to me." Puck frowned for a moment, before focusing on Mr. Schue again. "See? Told you. You can't help me. No one in this place can." Puck grabbed his backpack and stood up. He hesitated for a beat, before adding, "Thanks for...listening, or trying or whatever."  
  
As he opened the door, Mr. Schue spoke. "Hey, Puck-" Puck glanced at him over his shoulder. There was another second of silence. "...If you're not up to it, don't worry about Glee today, okay?"  
  
Puck shrugged. "Sure. Whatever."  
  
  
  
Noah Puckerman's on a roll.  
  
"-all right, bro, so at this point, I'm like, on my floor sprouting claws like Wolverine's-"  
  
"-Daken," Sam interjected. When the rest of the captive Glee Club audience- which at the moment consisted of Finn, Artie, Santana, Mike, and a particularly nauseated Quinn and Tina- turned and stared at him, he shrugged. "Wolverine's son? Dark Wolverine?"  
  
Puck got it, kind of appreciated it, even if it was kind of gay for Sam to say, but 1) not losing cred by getting into a conversation with Sam about Dark Wolverine, and 2) it was Sam Evans. "Hey, Bigmouthed Bass, who's telling this story, huh?" Sam shrugged, putting an arm around the back of Quinn's seat.  
  
Earlier in the day, Puck had grabbed a hoodie from the P.E. department, and was currently wearing it with the hood pulled over his head. It was all a part of the storytelling atomosphere, the attitude. Just like the fact that he'd started out sitting on the piano bench, but was now crouched on it, like he was about to pounce.  
  
When the real story sucked balls? Puck  _always_  made a cooler one.  
  
He dove back into his story with avengeance. "Right, so where was I? I was totally beastin' at this point. Like yeah, claws are cool, but I'm also like 'shit, my jaw's breaking itself and coming back together, what the hell?"  
  
"Ugh, do you  _really_  have to give every detail of the transformation, Puck? Honestly? Some of us have lunch we'd like to keep down."  
  
Oh, he's not going there with Quinn. Not  _even_  touching it.  
  
Artie raised his hand. Puck stared at him. "Bro, do I  _look_  like a teacher? Put your damn hand down."  
  
"Sorry...I just...thought you said during history that you blacked out."  
  
Puck waved that off. He already knew  _somebody_  was going to point that out. He opened his mouth to answer, when he stopped dead for a minute, his head turning slightly towards the door. He sniffed for a moment, perhaps a little less subtly than he would have liked. He couldn't help it; being part way through telling the store and smelling Kurt come through the door threw him off his game.  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Quinn's face wrinkle up in mild confusion at his action. Whatever, she needed to go back to cuddling Mr. Marvel over there and stay out of his business.  
  
The door opened, and Kurt entered, freezing at the door for a shocked second when he took in the sight before him. He cleared his throat. "Storytelling time, I suppose?" His voice is crisp, his tone short. He walked across the room to sit down, placing his bag on his lap. He motioned at Puck to continue. "Oh, don't let me stop you. Do continue."  
  
"Man?" Finn spoke up. "You still haven't explained why you're wearing my pants."  
  
"Shut  _up_ , Finn, I'm getting to that," Puck said, quickly recovering. He tried to ignore the arched eyebrow from Kurt's corner of the room. At least, Puck justified quickly, Kurt was just as interested in the story as everyone else. "Anymore interruptions?" Nothing. "Good. Now, anyway, Artie, yeah, I blacked out, but only  _after_  all the pain and claws and crap."  
  
Kurt didn't make a noise, but he did give Puck a long, incredulous stare at the 'blacking out' part of the story.  
  
"So next thing I know, i'm waking up, covered in blood-" Tina made a noise, "- it was deer blood, relax, if yo're gonna spew, go to the bathroom or soemthing- and I've got like,  _no_  idea where I am, except for like, there being trees all over the place. And of course, needless to say, I'm bare-ass naked."  
  
"Of course," Quinn drawled.  
  
"Come on, it wasn't like I was supporting shorts after all that crap," Puck shrugged. "Give me a break. I had to get  _home_  like that."  
  
Finn was still confused. "But dude, if you went home-"  
  
"A _hem_?" Kurt actually raised his hand, wiggling his fingers. "I believe that's where  _I_ come in." Puck stared at him, wondering whether werewolves, the day after a full moon, went to jail for murder.  
  
Everyone's attention was redirected towards Kurt. Kurt, who smiled this little evil, acid-smile towards Puck. "I don't know about the rest of his story, but he never  _made_ it home." Puck drops from his crouch to actually sit on the bench, shoving his hands into the hooded-sweat shirt so no one could see the tight fists that they were clenched into. "I was on my way to school when I ran into him."  
  
"Hu-" Wait, what? Puck narrowed his eyes warily, his words already forgotten.  
  
Kurt crossed his leg. "Apparently, SOME one forgot how illegal it is to walk around town 'bare-ass naked'. Fortunately for this particular Neanderthal, I'm a saint, and I took pity on him." Kurt glanced over at Finn. "He's wearing your clothes because Carole accidentally washed some of your clothes in my father's wash, and I was planning on returning them. There's another shirt in my trunk as well, don't let me forget to give it to you."  
  
Puck stared, slack-jawed. Dude.  
  
Queen Hummel  _covered_  for him.  
  
That didn't make sense. It wasn't as if Kurt had to speak up. He could have just let Puck talk. Granted, Kurt's excuse was more believable than the crap Puck was going to make up, but Puck could say that Tinkerbell hand-delivered Finn's jeans and it probably would have shut Finn up.  
  
Mr. Schue growing balls. Kurt covering for him. Pretty soon Finn would end up on the honor roll or something like that. Insanity.  
  
Puck rolled his eyes. "Dude, I was getting there." He managed to sound like his head wasn't spinning like that New Order song, which was a feat in and of itself. "But yeah, that's how it went down."  
  
Tina started to open her mouth and ask a question, but Mr. Schuester came in, followed by the remaining Glee stragglers. Puck got up off the bench and moved to sit down.  
  
So he sat next to Kurt this time. Whatever. Kurt had nearly given him a heartattack a minute ago, so the shocked and vaguely alarmed expression on his face felt like pay back.  
  
Puck grinned. There wasn't too much about today that wasn't shitty, but there was, at least, that.  
  
  
  
It was probably for the best that Karofsky approached him the day  _after_  the full moon, because two, three days ago, Puck was pretty sure he would have gone for Karofsky's throat. And even now, thinking about it as he both felt and smelled Karofsky's overgrown ass come up behind him, Puck was positive he wouldn't have felt bad about it.  
  
He didn't think that Karofsky was smart enough to have approached him the day after the full moon on purpose, either. So that had to be a fluke.  
  
"Yo, Puckerman, where's your new girlfriend?"  
  
Was it really that obvious to  _everyone_? Well, to be fair, Puck had been spending a lot of his time either with Kurt or avoiding Kurt, and every jock in Lima had a finely tuned 'that's gay, let's mock it' radar that kicked in about the second puberty did.  
  
Puck turned and rolled his eyes. When he was facing Karofsky, Karofsky took a step back. Not because he was scared or anything, but because they were standing  _way_  too damned close to one another in a locker room.  
  
"What are you bitching about, Karofsky?" Puck said, keeping his voice as neutral as possible. He tried to remember that he still wasn't sure how much force he had to put into his new punch not to break through Karofsky's face, because smelling Karofsky right near him just made him think of Kurt's bruising. "I've got places to be."  
  
Karofsky sneered at him. Puck tried to act like there was an inch of his body that was at all concerned about that little unspoken threat, but it was hard to even attempt. Pre-bite, yeah, maybe he would have been concerned. Not about Karofsky, but by the fact that Karofsky probably meant two on one with Azimio sneaking out the woodwork _minimum_ , assuming they didn't do what he'd do and bring a few team members with them.  
  
Now, though? Now Puck could smell that it was just him and Karofsky in the locker room, no Azimio, no stupid sophomores trying to follow Karofsky's lead to rack up cred. So he couldn't be bothered; instead, he was just impatient.  
  
"Your gay little girlfriend," Karofsky snapped. "You know, the one you've been ditching everybody for. What's up with that? Knew he was getting to Hudson, but you? That's fucking sick."  
  
Puck shook his head. "He's not  _getting_  to me, so shut your mouth before I shut it for you." Because what, was Puck going to say 'yeah, Kurt is probably turning me gay, but it's a werewolf thing, not a Kurt-thing, so unless you want to find out what happens if I bite out your throat in human-form, you should back off'? Wasn't going to happen.  
  
"Everyone sees how friggin' queer you're going," Karofsky continued, and he looked almost satisfied when Puck's impatient amusement turned to narrowed eyed anger, "You were the man, and all of a sudden-"  
  
Puck shoved him Not very hard, but enough to get the point across. "All of a  _sudden_ you're up in my grill like you've lost your damn mind, Karofsky. Don't  _push_  me."  
  
Karofsky pushed him back, and Puck hissed; he was close to his open locker, and his lower back hit the bottom edge of the locker door. "You don't get to come up in the locker room in between your little gay sex sessions or whatever."  
  
"Watch your mouth," Puck spat, fixing his jacket.  
  
"What, or you'll watch it for me, faggot?" Karofsky leered.  
  
Puck wanted to throw a punch, he did. Just pull back and slam his fist into Karofsky's face, and screw the consequences. He wasn't a fag, and he  _wasn't_  dating Hummel. Karofsky sounded ridiculous anyway. Didn't know what he was talking about.  
  
No matter how sure and satisfied and pissed off Karofsky looked.  
  
When Finn had joined Glee, Puck had been pissed, because he thought that Finn should have known better than to go queer with the musical theater sort of crowd. Yeah, he'd gotten on Finn's case, but that had been for Finn's own good, an attempt to punish Finn for his idiocy before someone else did. It didn't work, and at any given moment, Puck was probably more into Glee than Finn was, but whatever, Puck'd had his reasons.  
  
Karofsky, though? He and Puck weren't particularly close- Azimio was the funnier of the two  _anyway_ \- and they definitely weren't bros like he and Finn were. Karofsky was just trying to  _start_  crap with him. And Puck didn't play like that.  
  
So Puck could have thrown a punch. Maybe even should have. But, with his fists clenched at his sides and halfway raised to start something, Puck  _didn't_.  
  
It wasn't a morality thing. It wasn't because hitting Karofsky was wrong, or becasue he was being the bigger man. No, that stuff was bull, and Puck hated it anyway. It wasn't about anyone being upset that he fought- only people who would be anyway were, like, Hummel and Mr. Schuester, and who cared if they were bothered?  
  
Simply put, Puck was used to knowing what he'd do in a fight. If he went toe to toe with a dude, he knew the sort of damage he could cause, and knew what to do to at least end the fight, even if he got his ass kicked. He thought about when he nearly broke Finn's face just two days ago; he'd lost it, didn't know or care what he was doing. And he wasn't digging feeling out of control.  
  
Puck didn't hit Karofsky because he didn't know what he'd do if they started fighting. And he wasn't about to lose control over Dave Karofsky.  
  
Puck threw Karofsky a little sneer of his own, one that he was going to assume didn't look as much like a senile grizzly bear trying to remember where they'd placed their cubs as Karofsky's did. "Dude, stay the hell out of my business. i'm still the biggest badass in this school, and if you were even  _capable_  of landing a girlfriend, I'd be on my way to remind her of that fact right now. But, since you can't, maybe you shouldn't be calling  _me_  the fag, huh?"  
  
Karofsky looked like he was about to go at Puck. Puck snorted, pretending he wasn't still pissed, and slammed the door to his locker shut.  
  
As Puck left the locker room, he flipped Karofsky the finger. "Keep flapping your jaw, and I'm breaking it, Karofsky."


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Puck and Santana try to handle...business...but instead end up getting between a Karofsky and Kurt confrontation.

"Strawberry."  
  
"Okay, guess ag-"  
  
"Orange."  
  
"Now?"  
  
"Orange again. Same one."  
  
Artie and Finn were way too fascinated by the new game they'd all decided on to entertain themselves before Glee started.  
  
Artie had become fascinated with how fine-tuned Puck's sense of smell was. It all started when, on one of Glee's many day trips, Puck complained about how rank Finn's lunch was. That wouldn’t have been weird, if not for the fact that he'd started in on Finn before Finn had managed to even pull the lunch out of his backpack, before anyone else had even had the chance to smell it. Since then, Artie amused himself by playing smell guessing games with Puck until Puck got sick of it and wandered off.   
  
Today, the game of choice was "Guess which Starburst Finn has in his hands." It was a simple game. Of course, that didn't mean Puck didn't  _enjoy_  it; even a badass werewolf needed a little validation every so often.  
  
Finn opened his mouth. Puck spoke up before he could. "You switched packs. It's that stupid passion fruit crap."  
  
Shrugging, Finn pulled the wrapped Starburst from behind his back and tossed it over to Artie, who unwrapped it and ate it. "Dude, you're the one who knew what passion fruit smelled like."  
  
Passion fruit-flavored Starburst, Puck thought, but didn’t say, because he wasn’t really sure what a passion-fruit was. "This is stupid, you two. Give me something harder."  
  
"We already did 'guess whose sneaker' in the locker room."  
  
"Yeah, and we're  _not_  doing that again," Puck assured them. "If Chang's sneakers smell bad to  _you_  guys, imagine how  _I_  feel." Finn and Artie both chuckled at the memory. "I nearly barfed."  
  
"No you didn't," Artie said. He tilted his head as he crossed his arms over his chest. "Okay, so maybe this experiment's been done a few too many times." He smiled widely, nodding. "We need to up our game, yo." Artie paused for a moment, considered, and announced, "I'm thinking hiding like, a piece of clothing somewhere in the school. Like hide and seek."   
  
"That's what I'm talking about, bro," Puck said, throwing a nod Artie's way. "I say we grab a pair of Cheerios panties and-"  
  
Finn frowned. "We'd get in  _so_  much trouble."  
  
Puck snorted, rolling his eyes. "Forget trouble, man, that'd be freaking awesome."  
  
"Maybe, but it's not really impressive," Artie pointed out. "You've already got a reputation for being able to find a pair of panties from a mile away."  
  
"Ha friggin' ha," Puck retorted. He leaned in. "No, seriously, though, think about it. I can get a pair of Cheerios panties  _easy_  -- I'll even try to pull a thong, cause they're smaller, so they're harder to find." Artie and Finn both gave him dubious looks. Whatever. Their attention was totally riveted, and the stupid little 'experiment' would damn sure get his mind off of Kurt.  
  
Who was late. Not that Puck had noticed, or anything.  
  
Maybe it was just Puck, but Kurt had been acting strange. Really strange. Yes, Puck had, as of the past month, been more than a little odd in Kurt's direction, what with the sniffing and following and showing up at his house on a full moon, but he'd thought Kurt had kind of been going with the flow of it. He'd been a little pushy that Puck figure out what was going on with 'them' (‘them,’ like there was a ‘them’ to talk about when Puck was decidedly not homosexual), but he'd gotten into the habit of eye-rolling and letting Puck chill.  
  
Up until a couple of days ago, anyway.  
  
At first, Puck thought that Kurt was avoiding him. Kurt  _had_  been irritated whenever Puck asked about bruises, or the usual bullying, so Puck figured Kurt had gotten sick of him. Annoying, but Puck refused to go and search Kurt out, because that would have given credence to that whole 'needing to talk about stuff' idea that Kurt had. Even if the teenager's absence put Puck just the slightest bit on edge.  
  
It was a self-control thing.  
  
It didn't take long to realize that it wasn't just  _him_  that Kurt was avoiding. Kurt went to Glee, but was in another world. He rushed out of school afterward. Kurt was practically tip-toeing around the halls like he was a freshman trying to avoid Freshman Friday. Puck didn't like it, but what was he going to do? Track down Kurt and make him spill? Stop him after rehearsal and go 'what the heck's up with you?'  
  
Both totally appealing ideas, yes, but not happening.  
  
As soon as Puck started to dismiss both of those ideas, however, Kurt entered the room. The fact that Kurt was there remained a distraction after all this time, though not as bad as it had been at first.   
  
No, it wasn't Kurt's presence that was bothering Puck right now; it was the bruising Puck could smell from where he sat. He frowned deeply, swallowing as he watched Kurt sit down with his usual smoothness, but a touch more delicacy than usual. It was his back, Puck realized as he watched Kurt sit back, flinch slightly, and then sit ram-rod straight.  
  
The familiar distant smell of metal against Kurt's body. Puck knew throwing someone into a locker. Artie could figure out trig and math and all of that; Puck could judge how much effort a guy had put into a bodycheck in the same way, and he could do it before his nose had become quite as sharp as it was.  
  
A casual hallway knock-into caused bruising, but not like what he smelled on Kurt. That was the sort of thing that came from getting cornered, slammed into a locker hard, probably more than once.  
  
Puck's lip curled up into a snarl.  _Not_  okay. He shook his head and glanced over at Artie and Finn, carefully suppressing the growl that threatened to rise from his throat. It didn't work all that well, but he kept the volume of it down, at least. "We'll figure out whose we’re snatching later, all right?" he said distractedly, getting up out of his seat and moving, quite deliberately, next to Kurt.  
  
Kurt didn't say anything, didn't even look at him, with an expression of determination that rivaled one of Rachel's. Puck tilted his head a little, his arms crossed and his eyebrow raised slightly.  
  
He didn't ask what happened; the rest of the club was starting to file in, and he wasn't putting Kurt on the spot like that. More importantly, Puck didn't  _want_  to drag the others into this. This was between Kurt, whoever had decided to play handball with Kurt's back, and Puck's fist.  
  
As rehearsal went on, Puck watched as Kurt occasionally relaxed, until something brushed against his back -- Mercedes shoulder-bumping him playfully, or Quinn's silly cling of delight while they watched Mike do some stupid routine. Then Kurt's back would tense up, and he'd jerk his chin up and carefully brush his hair to the side in order to cover his flinch.  
  
Singing clearly helped Kurt’s mood a little. But still, as Glee came to a close, Kurt started staring at the clock. Looking... ‘nervous’ might have been the word for his facial expression, but what Puck registered more than that was the acrid sharpness blooming in Kurt’s distinctive scent, Kurt’s heartbeat quickening as the clock ticked.   
  
What the  _hell_  had Kurt so damned scared? Or, more specifically, who? And why?  
  
When Glee was over, Kurt stood up, quickly saying goodbye to Mercedes and Quinn before filing out. Puck wasn't bothered by the fact that Kurt didn't tell him goodbye. They were barely friends by any discernible definition of the word, especially with Kurt fleeing McKinley smelling like fear when he could normally stare down a good chunk of the football team with resigned disdain and irritation.   
  
Puck waited about two seconds after Kurt left the room, the door swinging behind him, before getting up and following after him.  
  
"Hey, wait up!" Kurt glanced over his shoulder, and stopped, looking annoyed and anxious, the unique qualities of his scent almost completely swallowed up in the smell of fear. Puck jogged over to him.  
  
"Yes, Puck?" Kurt affected a perfect 'why do I put up with all this exhausting bullshit' tone of voice, one Puck'd heard many times before. "I need to get home, and right now is  _not_  the time to have one of the million self-discovery conversations you so desperately need."  
  
Puck clenched his jaw, and his shoulders tensed. He could, should, walk away from Kurt. Tell him to go fuck himself, because it wasn’t like Puck  _reached out_  to people. It wasn’t like Kurt was some kind of moron who couldn’t tell why Puck was standing across from him.   
  
But Puck didn’t walk away. He kept his hands at his side, willing himself not to ball them into tight fists, and remained planted. "What happened?" His voice was rough, low, nearly a whisper, though he wasn’t sure why he was whispering or who he was trying to keep from overhearing.  
  
"What do you  _think_?" Kurt hissed, lowering his voice to match Puck's. "Not that I know why you even care all of a sudden. Unless this is another one of those weird wolf things you've been doing."  
  
He was purposely trying to piss Puck off. Puck knew that, but that didn’t stop it from working, because screw Kurt for using that bitchy little tone of voice with him. Puck breathed in Kurt's scent, the bruising and metal and all that fear, and in that instant he knew exactly who had done it.   
  
"You get into it with Karofsky?"  
  
"Get  _into_  it?" Kurt spluttered, an almost patronizing laugh coming along with his words. "I do not get  _into_  it with Karofsky. I do not  _start_  with Karofsky. I don't even look at him if I don't have to."  
  
Point. "So why'd he start with you?"  
  
"Oh come on, Puck," Kurt snapped. "Like Karofsky needs a reason? Who knows why he's decided to take out his steroid rage out on me this week?" Puck didn't even try to hide the growl that bubbled up in his chest. The sharpness in Kurt’s scent leapt up, and Puck's eyes narrowed correspondingly. Agitation overtook the haughtiness of Kurt’s expression. "Oh no. No, Puck, you don't get to  _do_  this. Not now."  
  
"Do what?"  
  
"Start growling like someone took your favorite squeaky toy." Puck wasn't sure if that was an appropriate analogy, but it might have been. "This isn't any of your business, so just..." Kurt took a deep breath, a shakier breath than usual, raising a hand to press against his temple briefly as though gathering himself together.  
  
Puck rolled his eyes. " 'Not being my business' is not something I give a crap about, Kurt." He shoved his hands in his pockets. "You're not seriously gonna just let Karofsky keep doing this, are you?"  
  
"No, Puckerman," Kurt answered dryly. "What exactly am I supposed to do? Hit him back?"  
  
"Dude, I've got your back," Puck said. Kurt looked doubtful at best. Puck shrugged. "What, you doubt I could do it?"  
  
"No, I wouldn't dare doubt your 'badassness'," Kurt answered with a roll of his eyes. "But I'm not asking you to-"  
  
"No one said you were, idiot," Puck retorts. "You're Glee." And just the  _idea_  of Karofsky touching Kurt again makes Puck want to tear the other athlete's throat out.  
  
Kurt's expression was wary, tense with suspicion and just the slightest glimmer of cautious hope. "And since when do you go out of your way to help any of us outside of Glee, hmm? Just because you've decided to be superbly confusing all of a sudden doesn't mean I buy you pretending to white-knight me."  
  
"One, I don't usually because I don't usually give a crap," Puck answered honestly. "Two? If I didn't want to step in, I wouldn't say anything at all. Lying about it? That's not me." He shook his head, scowling. He wanted to find some way to force Kurt to start making sense. The guy couldn't protect himself, so why was he rejecting Puck's offer?  
  
Kurt blinked at the irritation and offense in Puck’s tone, then sighed, sucking in a cheek as he glanced aside. "I don't want a stupid fight about me between you and Karofsky." Puck thought that it was probably best not to point out that one had already almost happened. He didn't think Kurt would be too pleased. "I don't want to even  _think_  about that ignoramus. I just want to go home, where I don't have to worry about him at all."  
  
"I can smell him coming, you know."  
  
"That's great. I can't, and I'm not relying on your nose all the time." Kurt shook his head, pressing his lips together in a fine line.  
  
"Dude, you're my boy," Puck countered. Kurt raised an eyebrow, but Puck kept talking. "And no bro of mine is going to be scared to walk through McKinley." At least, not if it wasn't Puck's fault, anyway. "I'm not dropping this, so you might as well just give up."  
  
Kurt stared at him. "Have I ever mentioned how charming you're not?"  
  
"Does it look like I care if you think this is charming?"  
  
"I don't really know what you care about right now," Kurt answered sincerely. Puck threw him a perplexed look of his own, his eyes slightly wider and his mouth dropped open as if to speak. Kurt caught the look and held up a spindly finger to keep Puck from continuing. "But this conversation is borderline sweet, so I'd rather you not mess it up."   
  
Puck scowled once more, though his expression might have come off as more of a pout than anything else. "Look, if he messes with you again, tell me." Puck knew Karofsky well enough to know there was no ‘if,’ and Kurt's expression said he knew that too. "I'll handle it."  
  
Kurt just  _looked_  at Puck for a moment, moving his hand as if he might touch Puck. He stopped himself, his hand hovering just a few inches away, then sighed deeply and dropped his hand to Puck’s hoodie instead, picking lint off it. The lint was imaginary and they both knew it. "I've got to get home, Puck. So unless you're in desperate need of a ride..."  
  
The question hung there like an offering, and Puck seriously considered lying and saying that yeah, he did. Because damned if he was letting Kurt flit off like some Peter Pan fairy thing, when Kurt was  _scared_ , actually scared, and Puck needed to do something.  
  
Even if it was just stubbornly standing there until he willed Kurt unafraid.  
  
"Nah, I've got my mom's car," Puck answered, more sourly than he'd intended.  
  
Kurt nodded. "I understand. I'll see you tomorrow." He turned and walked down the hall.  
  
Puck dropped against a nearby locker, his head hitting it with a thud. No, he thought to himself. Kurt didn't understand at  _all_.  
  
  


1 more chance

  
  
The text message came ten minutes before the end of Glee. He didn't need to even look at the name to know who it was; Santana was sitting next to Brittany across the room, linking pinkies with one hand and holding her cellphone with the other. She didn't need to look at him either, not for him to know where that little smirk on her lips was being directed.  
  
So Santana was over her little snit fit, good to know.  
  
Thing was, Puck was torn. Very torn. He hadn't gotten laid in over a month, a set of circumstances he was pretty sure should have only come to be if he'd been stuck in _prison_ , or put in a coma or something, so he really wanted to get laid. On the other hand, while Santana wasn't smelling like Drew so much today, there was still the scent of someone else there. And it wasn't the biggest turn-on, not really.  
  
Cynically, he glanced at the seat directly in front of him, where Kurt was sitting and looking bored as hell. Puck knew exactly what the 'biggest' turn-on was right now, but Puck really didn’t want to deal with that right now. Or anything related to that.  
  


usual quickie meetup give me 5 min after class

  
  
He sent the message and didn't look her way, because he knew there wasn't going to be much more conversation between the two of them.  
  
When Glee was finished, Puck watched Santana leave the room first, smirking her way as she blew him a kiss over her shoulder.  
  
He got up, grabbed his bag, and went for the door. He'd barely noticed the rest of the room had cleared out while he was getting his stuff together.  
  
Except for, of course, Kurt  _fucking_  Hummel.  
  
"You're kidding me, Puck."  
  
Puck rolled his eyes and turned around. "I wasn't telling a joke."  
  
"I thought that you couldn't hook up with  _her_  anymore." Kurt didn't sound confused so much as disappointed. It was bad enough when Puck got that crap from Mr. Schuester, or Miss Pillsbury, or Quinn, or the rest of Glee. He didn't need it from Kurt, especially not when it got in the way of him getting laid.  
  
Puck shrugged. "Got over it. And now, I'm trying to get over my severe case of blue balls."  
  
"And you think Santana's the answer."  
  
"She usually is." Puck was having that nagging sense of missing the point. He got that a lot talking to Kurt, actually. He was worse than talking to Quinn in that way. "She's also waiting for me, and since --"  
  
"-- so that's the way it is?" Kurt pressed his lips together in a straight line. "Back to Classic-Puckerman?"  
  
Puck stuck his hands in his pockets. "That's what I'm hoping," he answered.  
  
"What happened to giving girls a rest?"  
  
"I never said I was going to,  _you_  said I was going to," Puck pointed out. Then he frowned. "Since when do you care whether or not I'm sleeping with Santana?"  
  
"Si-" Kurt cut himself off, and all expression on his face cut off too. "Since  _never_. Forget it. Just do whatever it is you do with her. I don't really care." Kurt moved to walk past Puck.  
  
Puck ducked his head slightly as Kurt got close to him. Kurt's scent filled his nose in a way that it hadn't for a while, not since Kurt had taken to running off to avoid Karofsky. He bit down on the inside of his mouth.  
  
"Move out of my way."  
  
What was Puck supposed to do? He clenched his fists at his side and moved, just the slightest bit. "Fine." He sounded like a punk, even to his own ears. "It's not like it's any of your business what I do anyway."  
  
"Trust me, I know that, Puck," Kurt snapped back before existing.  
  
Puck swallowed, cursed under his breath, and went to find Santana.  
  
  
  
Right off of the locker room, there was a big equipment supply closet that was mostly unused. Over a year ago, Puck had stolen a set of janitor's keys, and since making her a copy, he and Santana had used it in between classes. Or during, when neither of them felt like showing up. There was enough room for both of them, and hell, tight spaces were kind of hot anyway.  
  
Santana yanked him inside the moment he opened the door. "About damn time," she said, not entirely unamused. "Thought you'd gone and ditched me or something else totally mental."  
  
He put his arms around her waist and pulled her in a little. The last time they'd talked, it'd gone badly, but to be honest, Puck was used to going back and forth with Santana. They got pissy, then they slept together; it was tradition. And anyway, he thought, breathing her scent in, she hadn't hooked up with anyone else  _today_ , and that was borderline sweet of her.  
  
"Well, are you going to apologize for being an ass?"  
  
"I was gonna skip to making out."  
  
"Like I said," she scoffed, lifting her head up to meet his as he leaned in. The first kiss was almost soft, playful. She smirked at him as she put her arms lazily around his neck. "Missed me?  
  
Puck answered by kissing her again.  
  
And it was fun. Harmless and hot making out, as long as he didn't think too hard. Fortunately, Santana had always been good at keeping him from thinking too hard. Right then, with her body and new boobs -- which weren't nearly as weird as he'd thought they'd be, what with the being fake thing -- pressing against him, he could almost pretend that the past month of strangeness and smells and shock hadn't happened. As long as he didn't breathe too deeply, or start comparing her scent to the one that was drifting into his periphery right outside in the locker room-  
  
He pulled away for a minute, both of them panting slightly. His arms were still around her waist, even as his eyebrows knitted together with confusion. "You smell that?"  
  
She made a face. "No, Scooby-doo, I don't. I wonder  _why_?" She linked her fingers at the nape of his neck. "Don't tell me you smell tater tots or something, because if you do? We are so over."  
  
"Shhh for a minute, okay?" Puck hushed her.  
  
"I'm sorry, is the sound of my voice keeping you from tracking dinner, Lassie?"  
  
Puck would have retorted, but he was too busy registering the scents coming from the locker room.  
  
Two of them. One, the scent that had distracted him in the first place -- Kurt. Puck would have been more annoyed if not for the second scent, the one he'd barely registered because honestly? Unless Kurt was talking about the guy, or smelling like the side of a locker door, Puck didn't think about him.  
  
Karofsky.  
  
" _Shit_ ," Puck hissed under his breath, letting go of Santana. Santana opened her mouth, but Puck spoke first. "Trust me, I'd rather be hooking up right now. This crap is seriously cramping my style, but I've --"  
  
"I can't believe you," Santana snapped, her arms flying up in the air. "You have to seriously be going queer on me or something, because I am  _so_  sick of --"  
  
"This is  _not_  about being gay," Puck insisted, already getting at the door.   
He wasn't going to explain what he was smelling. Telling Santana that he couldn't have a quick make-out session because he was smelling Kurt, and Kurt’s scent was distorted with fear and adrenaline and his heart was racing and so was  _Karofsky's_ , probably sounded all sorts of gay if said out loud.  
  
Instead, he just turned his head and stared at her. Hoping for once that the fact that they were  _friends_  would actually trump their respective libidos. And if that didn't sound gay as hell, he didn't know what did.  
  
Santana stared back, and what was only a few short beats felt like forever, because Puck could  _hear_  Kurt speaking up, indistinctly but with increasing volume.   
  
Santana must have heard it too, because her jaw set itself in a frown, an expression Puck wasn't used to seeing from her. "This better be important," she said finally.  
  
Puck nodded once before heading towards the locker room. It didn't occur to him to pay attention to Kurt’s words as he tracked his location, so he got only snippets. Yelling at Karofsky, demanding to know why. Puck followed the scent and sound cues more easily than the words themselves: the mounting acrid taste distorting Kurt's scent and sticking to the back of his throat, the heavy breath from them both, the slight sharpness in Karofsky's that neither rose nor fell, but hovered like it was always there.  
  
Then Kurt stopped talking, a sudden absence of sound that felt deafening in spite of the other noises of WMHS. Kurt's sharp scent spiked powerfully, as jarring as a car swerving off-road. Puck growled.  
  
He slammed open the locker room door. Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been Karofsky's hands on Kurt like that. Hands desperately grasping Kurt's face, lips pressed hard against Kurt's. Kurt's body was both frozen and shaking somehow, his scent all terror and horror in a way that Puck had yet to smell off of him.  
  
Puck didn't get to move before Kurt shoved Karofsky away. Both Kurt and Karofsky's hearts were pounding so hard that Puck nearly missed Santana's skipping an alarmed beat.  
  
Kurt tumbled back from Karofsky before either of them registered anyone else there.  
  
If asked, Puck wouldn't be able to recall what it was that Karofsky said next, but it was very definitely, "He tried to kiss me first." He wouldn't recall the spike of sharp fear from Karofsky either, but it felt a hundred times better than Kurt's fear. Puck had long since been tired of smelling fear off of Kurt, and in that moment it hit him how much of that scent Karofsky was responsible for.  
  
Puck grabbed the front of Karofsky's jacket and slammed him hard into the neighboring locker. It  _bent_ , both from the force of impact and Karofsky's weight.  
  
"What the  _hell's_  your problem, Puckerman?" Karofsky gasped out raggedly. "You’re seriously going to bat for this freak?"  
  
It was Santana, crouched beside a huddled Kurt, who responded. "Freak? Oh, I'll show you freak, you --"  
  
There were weeks until the full moon, but Puck's senses flared up like there were merely days. The burgeoning bruises on Karofsky's back, the jock's fear and adrenaline, Kurt's panicked, acrid terror, all of it filled Puck's nose so suddenly that Puck released Karofsky for a moment, shaking his head as he tried to compensate for the shock.  
  
Karofsky took the moment to shove Puck. Puck, thrown off-guard by the suddenly heightened sense, tripped backwards a step or two.  
  
"Listen, this freaking homo tried to --" Karofsky was trying to defend himself, but Puck's ears were dedicated to the shaky breaths from Kurt, to the whispered 'chill out, Kurt,' from Santana. Karofsky's words came in and out of Puck's awareness. "-- and you know what we do to freaks like him." Puck's head shot up, his eyes narrowed. Karofsky was still going, even if his tone was mocking. "At least, you used to. What, did he turn you too?"  
  
Puck didn't answer. His stomach swam strangely, a pool of anticipation. He could feel his skin heat up, like the start of a fever, even if he didn't exactly feel  _sick_.  
  
If there was any single thing he didn't feel right now, it was ill. He barely noticed when his lips curled back in a vicious half-smile, half-snarl.  
  
The sharp bits of Karofsky's scent rose again, even if Karofsky looked ready for a fight. "What the fuck's with your eyes? You can't seriously be pissed about this Hummel kid --"  
  
"Dude, I fucking  _told_  you what I'd do to you if you kept  _talking_." Puck's voice was thick and rasping and low, not wholly his own. He didn't particularly care.  
  
Normally, Puck might've strolled in closer, shown off with a little badass strut before kicking the shit out of a loser (and yeah, at the moment 'loser' was the highest compliment that Puck was going to level at Karofsky). This time, Puck didn't really care how cool he looked.  
  
So he lunged.  
  
He and Karofsky hit the floor, and it was only luck that they managed to roll away from the bench before Karofsky hit his head. There was a gasp (or maybe a strangled scream? Puck wasn't sure) from Kurt, but Puck knew Santana had his back over there, so Kurt would be fine.  
  
As they tussled, Karofsky ended up over Puck. The first punch was his, a sloppy right to Puck's jaw. There was a flash of pain, but it wasn't the first time Puck had been clocked in the jaw. Puck got in a punch to Karofsky's meaty gut.  
  
His senses still hyper-aware, Puck realized distantly how  _weird_  this struggle was. The scents of the fight -- the sweat, the bruising, the scrapes and cuts, all that terror and adrenaline -- flooded his nose. The sounds of skin against skin and Karofsky's pained grunts and groans whenever Puck landed a hit blocked out the rest of the world.  
  
This wasn't a fight that Puck  _enjoyed_ , because fuck Karofsky and the fact that with Karofsky's face so close, Puck could still  _smell_  Kurt on it, but Puck had never experienced being so wholly  _focused_  in a fight before.  
  
He grabbed the front of Karofsky's jacket and jerked his head upward, slamming his forehead into Karofsky's nose. The crack was sickening and satisfying, and even through his haze of rage, Puck snorted before roughly rolling Karofsky off of him, onto the floor.  
  
Karofsky's hands automatically went up to protect his bleeding nose for a minute before he remembered to continue struggling with Puck. Karofsky tried to roll Puck over again, and Puck winced as his side hit the corner of the row of lockers, but he recovered, pulling back his fist to hit Karofsky again.  
  
" _Puck_ , for  _fuck's_  sake, stop it!"  
  
Puck wasn't sure if it was hearing Kurt, his panicked voice hitting trembling and ragged higher parts of his register, that broke through the haze. It could have been, or it could have been the fact that Kurt had  _cursed_  at him. Or maybe it was the fact that Karofsky froze too, the wide-eyed look of both rage and horror in his eyes directed at Puck's fist.  
  
"Please, Puck," Kurt stopped yelling, but his voice was hoarse. "Just  _stop_."  
  
Puck didn't look at Kurt, because he didn't trust Karofsky enough to pull his eyes away from the guy. Instead, he put a hand on the locker beside him and pulled himself up off the floor, still glaring down at Karofsky, daring him to throw another punch.  
  
"You're a bigger freak than your girlfriend," Karofsky spat shakily, dragging himself up. His words came out nasal and he held the back of his arm to his nose to stem the bleeding. "You Glee losers  _deserve_  each other."  
  
The slow growl that left Puck as he glared was far more effective at shutting Karofsky up than any verbal threat. Even if Karofsky's face was frozen in a sneer of disgust like he thought he was hot shit or something.  
  
Puck glanced over at Santana and Kurt. Santana was helping Kurt up, even though Kurt was throwing her a suspicious and vaguely disturbed look as she did so. She was too busy throwing Karofsky the nasty side-eye to notice.  
  
"Let's just go," Kurt said after a minute, standing up a little straighter as he adjusted his shirt. "I don't think I can stomach being around this much repressed self-hatred for much longer." Kurt looked Puck in the eyes, and there was a momentary flinch. "You don't have a pair of sunglasses, do you? For you."  
  
Puck shrugged. It wasn't like there was anyone left in McKinley that  _didn't_  know what his deal was. They'd just have to deal with it until it faded, or he calmed down, or whatever. But he did wonder what his eyes looked like.  
  
They began to file out, leaving Karofsky standing there. Santana was the last one out, and Puck had to snort as he heard her parting shot.  
  
"You even  _try_  to get my boys in trouble, and I'll have no problem telling the entire squad about how you tried to touch Kurt. Don't forget, the little queen was a Cheerio. I _will_  trash your reputation so hard you'll  _wish_  Kurt let Puck finish."  
  
He hoped that Kurt heard Santana too, but got the feeling that Kurt was too distracted to care.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Conclusion, in which Puck is overprotective, and Kurt calls him out on his crap.

"Really, this is sweet, Puck, it is, but I don't need you hovering over me all day." Kurt paused. "Week."

Puck rolled his eyes and looked away. "It's been a couple of days. And I'm not hovering."

That was a lie. Puck was blatantly hovering, and really didn't give a damn if it was obvious. He just didn't want to risk Karofsky rolling up on Kurt while Kurt was alone. It had almost happened a couple of times already; Puck had spotted Karofsky from down the hall, making a beeline to what probably would have been a slam into a locker before noticing Puck glaring at him- or Santana throwing him an eyebrow raise and a mockingly blown kiss, as the case might be.

So what if bizarre gay romance or raunchy threeway rumors were likely to be posted all over ben Israel's blog if that meant that Kurt wasn't covered in metal-scented bruising?

"Fine. You're not hovering, but you are driving me insane," Kurt informed him. Puck looked at Kurt. Kurt stared back."You're almost as bad as Finn, you know."

Kurt had been really pissed at Puck when he realized that Finn, and subsequently, the rest of Glee found out about the encounter. Trouble was, it hadn't been Puck that had spilled the beans. It had been Santana, who apparently had gathered the Glee Cheerios and jocks and told them exactly what had gone down, and, in a move that surprised everyone but Puck and maybe Brittany (who both knew her better than the rest of them), hadn't spread it past that.

Santana, as she told it, wasn't interested in telling the whole school. Having dirt on Karofsky was much more useful and much more satisfying. Kurt hadn't been happy with that explanation, but Santana had made it quite clear she didn't give a flying fuck what Kurt thought about her actions.

She reminded him, with a flip of her ponytail, that he was lucky she didn't march her way over to Coach Sylvester.

"I'm way worse than Finn," Puck answered, sounding almost insulted.

Even through Kurt's irritation and wariness, he smiled at Puck, glancing upwards with an expression that Puck wasn't used to seeing Kurt direct at him. Puck looked down, away from Kurt again, his hands shoved in his pockets. That didn't mean he wasn't smiling back though.

"You know, I always wanted a dog," Kurt began. "And everyone always assumed I wanted a little Chow-chow or a Pomerian or a Bichon, but I don't know, maybe it's the fact that I'm eternally my father's child or something, but I always wanted a bulldog or Doberman, one of those elegant guard dogs." He's got a teasing look in his eyes. "I didn't think I'd actually get one." Puck shoved him, more playfully than he'd ever shoved Kurt. There was a moment in which Kurt tensed, but he instantly relaxed when he realized Puck wasn't actually aiming for a wall or a locker.

The weird, blinking, wide-eyed look of surprise on Kurt's face made Puck feel a little weird, like maybe he had to do something to save face.

Fortunately, they were right outside the music room, so Puck didn't have to. Instead, he just opened the door and let Kurt move in past him. Kurt beamed at him as he did so.

Weird. Kurt Hummel was really weird.

Oddity of the moment was shattered when they walked into the classroom. It was the first Glee rehearsal since Karofsky's attack on Kurt, so Puck shouldn't have expected anything different than the room staring and falling silent. Still, a part of him had figured, since he and Kurt had spoken to most of the club members on their own or in smaller groups- Brittany had suggested Kurt use a tinfoil hat to protect himself from any looks that Karofsky might throw him, and Tina only half-jokingly suggested a voodoo doll- that there wouldn't be much of a scene.

But here they were, standing at the front of the room and being stared at. Great.

Puck wasn't surprised when it was Rachel who walked over to them, holding her hands behind her back, and spoke first. "I'm glad to see that you're not letting certain jerks keep you from what's really important." Puck was about to open his mouth and say something, but Kurt held up a hand, allowing Rachel to continue. She smiled softly at Kurt. "I'm glad you're okay, and to show it, I prepared a duet for the both of us to practice and perform at the end of the week...if you're interested, that is."

Puck and Kurt both turned to look at each other.

"Sure, Rachel, I'd love to," Kurt replied after a minute. "But right now, I'd really just like to sit and get on with Glee, okay?"

"Oh, of course," Rachel said, throwing them another smile before settling in next to Finn, who shrugged, mildly embarrassed, at the two guys before throwing them a greeting nod.

Kurt sat down next to Mercedes, with an empty seat directly behind him. Puck took the empty seat without comment. For once, there were virtually no side-long looks or confused glances from the peanut gallery. After Karofsky, Puck figured that everyone had just accepted that Puck was going to be- what had Kurt called it? His guard dog or whatever?

Virtually, though, didn't mean no one. Quinn was sitting diagonally behind Puck, next to Sam. She leaned in behind him, to whisper, "You know violence isn't going to solve this, right? You probably just pissed Karofsky off more with your little macho display."

Puck snorted mirthlessly, shaking his head. It figured. "You weren't there, Fabray, so don't start."

"You know I'm right. I usually am." A beat. "But he totally deserved it, and I'm sure Kurt appreciates someone sticking up for him for once. So if he didn't say it...thanks." Puck turned his head so fast it was a surprise he didn't have whiplash, staring at Quinn. She'd already sat back in her seat, picking at her nails while Sam draped an arm around her shoulder.

Puck shook his head, and leaned forward to talk to Kurt. "So is this weird for you too?"

"Which part?" Kurt whispered back airily. "Rachel being nice, everyone playing nursemaid, or the fact that you've surgically attached yourself to my hip? Because honestly, I think I deserve a little bit of positive attention." There was the usual smug and amused tone in Kurt's voice, which Puck didn't want to admit was a pleasant change from the jumpy and stressed tone that Kurt'd had for the past few days.

Just thinking about it was enough to make Puck seriously consider going after Karofsky right then and there, instead of just keeping Kurt away from the guy. Puck clutched his fists on his thighs and tried to ignore the desire.

"This isn't 'positive attention,' Kurt," Puck argued. "This is me making sure you stay in one piece. It's different."

"The utterly sad, utterly pathetic thing?" Kurt said with an overdramatic sigh, "Is that at McKinley? From you? No, no it isn't." He tilted his head back to glance up at Puck. "And I have to echo Quinn; if I haven't said thank you yet, thanks."

Puck shrugged. "Whatever, bro, I got your back."

"I don't know whether it's being a werewolf that does it, or just the fact that you've finally matured past the emotional age of three, but whatever it is, it's a good look."

Puck snorted. "Dude, I kind of doubt it's either." He really didn't want to spend Glee having the 'you've grown' speech, because that speech was always so stupid and condescending. At least, it always sounded that way in movies. He didn't really know from experience.

Kurt crossed his legs and raised his eyebrow at Puck. He sighed. "Puck.." He clamped his mouth shut, and then tried again. "Finn is going to Rachel's for dinner, and my dad adn Carole are taking the opportunity to have a night out."

When a girl said something like that, Puck understood it. When Kurt said it? Puck was confused. Very confused.

"And?" He asked, and he wasn't sure if he came off impatient or wary.

"So I could use some company. If you and Santana aren't busy, of course," Kurt explained dryly, as if he thought it was ridiculous he had to explain at all.

Well, most dudes that invited Puck over to chill- Finn, Mike- just said 'come over, I've got the new Halo game.' There was no listing of who wasn't going to be home and why. That preface had certain connotations that Puck was pretty sure Kurt didn't intend.

At least, he didn't think Kurt intended them.

"I'm not busy," Puck answered after a minute. "What's for dinner?" Because hell if he wasn't getting food out of dragging his ass to the Hummel's house.

Kurt shrugged. "Whatever I manage to put together from the refrigerator. Don't worry, you'll like it. Are you coming over?"

Puck considered it for a minute. The last few times he'd been actually alone with Kurt- like the day before the last full moon, the last full moon itself- without some sort of crowd or public space, things had gone...strangely, to say the least. He wasn't sure if he wanted to risk it. Protecting Kurt in school was cool- there was always someone in the hallway, always someone to be wary of. But well, Puck remembered the last full moon, and how freaking domesticated he'd behaved. He still didn't like it.

"Sure, whatever."

Apparently liking it or not liking it meant nothing to his brain or his mouth.

Kurt smiled. "Good. Come by around six or something."

Dinner at the Hummel house. This felt like it was going to go terribly.

 

The food was fine. Kind of good, actually; Kurt prepared Puck a burger and some homemade fries that he said he'd baked instead of fried. Kurt picked at a salad, occasionally interjecting with conversation about something he and Tina, or he and Mercedes had done at the mall. Or he did until Puck looked over at him- with as nice a smirk as he could, considering- and told Kurt that he really didn't care about the upcoming spring line or whatever.

Kurt looked hurt for a second, before recovering and talking about Glee. For Kurt, 'hurt' translated into a thin-lipped look of annoyance, but Puck could read it well enough. He didn't get why, since people told Puck to shut up about video games all the time, and video games were more interesting than clothes.

They didn't move when dinner was finished- or, rather, Puck was finished eating, and Kurt had just placed his food on the coffee table. The television had never been turned on, and it was odd, because Puck didn't notice it for a long while.

He suspected it had something to do with how close he was to Kurt. Moving pictures on a screen were boring and silly when Kurt had answered the door, freshly clean from a shower- obviously- with his hair freshly cleaned and brushed back. There was the soft smell of lotion, but mainly it was just Kurt. Even the bruising was fading by now.

Puck barely had the shame at this point to feel embarrassed when he definitely snuck a sniff in or two when he came in. He was sure Kurt noticed it too. Let him.

Which was probably a mistake, because when Puck noticed Kurt let him, it was just that much easier to sniff Kurt again when Kurt finally got up to put their plates away.

The fact that Kurt didn't say anything about it was probably why Puck got up and followed Kurt into the kitchen quietly. He stood nearby as Kurt washed the dishes and put them on the drying rack.

Kurt finished cleaning and turned to face Puck, resting his elbows on the kitchen sink behind him. He fidgeted with the long sleeves of his shirt shyly. "We've got to talk. Like, three weeks ago."

"About what?"

"Uh...us?" Kurt made a face. "Or you, or me, or whatever." Puck's expression didn't move. There was only an 'us' in so much as Puck was protecting Kurt from the local jackasses, and they were almost bordering on friends. The weight of Kurt's words made it sound like there was something more than that.

And Puck was straight. So there couldn't be.

Kurt seemed to have read that all Puck's stoney-faced look, and he rolled his eyes. "I know you think that I'm crazy, but I'm not. You can't tell me things haven't been weird with you, with you with me, since you got bitten. And please don't argue that everything's been normal, because it so hasn't."

Puck shrugged. "Weirdness kind of happens when you get bit, wake up in a hospital and find out you've become a werewolf. It's not personal."

"It's not?" Kurt's eyebrow rose delicately, but the bitchy sort of delicacy which meant he thought he knew more about the situation than Puck did. "So how many other people have you spent your time sniffing constantly?"

"I-"

"-or following around?"

"That's no-"

When Kurt stood straight up and crossed his arms, it was a mirror image of Puck's own irritated body language. "Or have you also been almost making out with Finn and Sam in empty classrooms too?" Puck's face twisted up with disgust. Which was an answer enough. "No, I don't think you have. So forgive me for thinking that yes, this may be something a little more personal than you're willing to admit. A fact that's more than a little insulting, may I add."

Puck frowned. "How are you insulted? That's stupid."

Kurt opened his mouth, with that snooty little expression that he always made before insulting someone himself, but then he clamped his mouth shut and tried again. "It's mildly offensive when someone won't admit that they give a damn. I would have thought you'd understand that." He brushed his hair to the side automatically, but the lack of hair product meant it flopped back immediately. He looked less than pleased, and Puck wasn't sure if it was about the hair or about the conversation. "I get that my presence is social poison, but I'm not asking you to announce how you feel to the whole world. Just admit it to me. Is that really so horrible?"

At WMHS? Yes, yes it was, but that was completely irrelevant, because Puck didn't feel like Kurt kept claiming he did. So what if they'd almost made out- emphasis on almost, because it was really more of a sniffing thing, and the sexual intensity of it was little more than an unfortunate biproduct of Kurt's scent- or any of the other things Kurt was pointing out?

Puck had to admit, it was sounding pretty weak, even in his own head. But he decided that it probably sounded weak because he was completely distracted by lotion/cream free Kurt.

"Dude, being in Glee is social poison," Puck pointed out. "I don't care whether people give me shit for chilling with you."

"But we're not talking about hanging out, Puck. We haven't been talking about hanging out for awhile now." Kurt looked frustrated, with an expression that reminded Puck eerily of Quinn whenever he didn't get what she was angry about.

Puck clenched his jaw, staring past Kurt. The last thing Puck wanted to do was look him in the eye. Honestly, the last thing he wanted to do was smell Kurt right now, but he didn't have much choice in that. Not unless he turned and left, and while one half of him didn't want to leave that scent, the other half balked at running away from Kurt Hummel like a punk. And so he settled on not looking at Kurt, instead paying the wood grain of the cabinets particular attention.

Kurt noticed what Puck was doing, and even not looking at him, Puck could see the frustration growing. Kurt took a few steps closer, closing some of the already too small distance between them. He kept playing with the ends of his sleeves, and Puck tried to convince himself that he didn't, couldn't notice that nervous gesture.

Noticing meant that Puck was watching, and he most definitely was not watching.

"I'm going to be totally honest with you, Puck," Kurt spoke, and he was only inches away from being dizzingly close, which was both the reason Puck didn't step back and the reason he absolutely should have. "A month and a half ago, the idea of you being remotely attracted to me would have probably upset me. Your stunning good looks and your ability to summon quite a good deal of charm when you rub your brain cells together aside, at your best you tend to drive me insane." Puck wasn't sure he liked where this was going. "You were one of the reasons I dreaded wearing a new jacket to school everyday. Even after everything with Glee, when yes, I will grant that you managed a modicum of emotional growth, it wasn't as if you were exceptionally welcoming or accepting."

Kurt took another step forward, and Puck's gaze slowly found its way back to Kurt's eyes, which were equal parts determined and hesitant. He continued. "But since you were bit...I don't know, I've almost- almost- grown to enjoy your company. You've certainly watched out for me, and well...you've done more for me with that...Karofsky nonsense," his lip curled with disgust as he spat out that name, "Than anyone has. I never thought I'd be grateful to you and Santana for helping me out, but then again, I must admit, I never expected to admire you in way that was more than purely aesthetic." A pause, and then, "Even if you do dress like the back rack of a Salvation Army and your insistence on performing solely songs by Jewish rockers limits your repertoire severely."

Kurt finished up, looking back at Puck and waiting for him to speak.

And Puck wanted to speak. He wanted to say a lot of things. Like how Kurt needed to stop crushing on straight dudes (even straight dudes that masturbated to his scent). He wanted to say he protected Kurt because Kurt was his friend (and it had nothing to do with the fact that he couldn't handle smelling all the fear and bruising). A million excuses passed through his mind, and quickly evaporated in the presence of Kurt's smell. Puck registered the moment that Kurt realized how deeply Puck was breathing- Kurt's eyes widened in understanding for an instance.

And then- screw Kurt Hummel- he took a step in closer.

"I don't necessarily...want anything besides an admission, Puck," and Puck didn't need to smell bull to tell Kurt was lying, "But I think I deserve at least that."

There's a rant somewhere in there, about 'deserving' and how 'even if I admitted to digging your scent in a way that was like, fifty-six percent homo, Puckerman doesn't do dudes,' but it gets lost somewhere in the inches of distance between them. In slouching, with his hands now shoved in his back pockets, Puck leaned forward, very nearly closing that space.

Kurt was taller than he had been a year before, but he still looked up at Puck, his eyes wide, not with shock, but with curiosity. "After I recovered from the initial bizarrity of it, I must admit, your new found predilection towards..." And Kurt chuckled softly, "...sniffing me is quite charming." Charming was suddenly a word with a much lewder connotation, and only Kurt could make 'charm' the height of sexy, as if he couldn't conceive of levels past that."I could definitely grow to like it."

Puck might have been entranced by the soft underpinning of arousal that was starting to pool in Kurt's scent, by the quickening of Kurt's heartbeat, but he was still enough in control of himself to quirk his eyebrow upwards. "Grow to? We're having a talk about you growing to like something?" His voice comes out husky.

Without skipping a beat, Kurt replies, "You won't even admit you're attracted. I think we both have things to grow into, wouldn't you say?"

Puck thought about that for two seconds before he got tired of thinking, and shrugged. "Point."

Kurt tilted his neck, and Puck licked his lips. Kurt looked satisfied with the response. "Well? Are you going to be honest with me, or am I to resort to wearing turtlenecks made of fabrics guaranteed to make your nose itch everytime you lean in close? Because I have a shopping cart opened on my laptop right now, I just have to put in my credit card number."

Puck growled. "You're a damn smartass."

"And you're just figuring this out?" Kurt batted his eyes. Honest to God- gay boy batted his eyes.

Seriously, Puck thought, fuck it. He leaned into Kurt's hair and took a deep and deliberate breath. Kurt lifted a hand and pressed it against Puck's chest. The other scents- the food in the refrigerator, the spices in the spice rack, faded into the background.

Puck's eyes dropped close, and Kurt's hand slid down and to the side to grip the side of Puck's shirt. Puck's hand drifted to the small of Kurt's back, the slight pressure signaling to Kurt to move in closer. Kurt obliged, dropping his forehead against Puck's shoulder as Puck leaned in so sniff along Kurt's exposed neck and the curve of his neck and shoulder.

Kurt shuddered as Puck's tongue flicked out across the length of his neck. To Puck, it was as if waves of arousal shook out of Kurt like cinnamon with every shiver, and Puck's dick stirred in his jeans.

This was private, he told himself, which made it okay. More than okay- it felt good. Better than the quick attempt at a hook up with Santana in the janitor's closet.

"Puck, you didn't say it, you enormous bastard," Kurt's voice came out equal parts annoyed, amused, and aroused. "Not fair."

Puck responded with the most intelligent retort he could, his words half-muffled by Kurt's skin. "What?"

Kurt gripped the side of Puck's shirt a little more tightly. "The point of you coming over wasn't so you could sniff on me." His words were half whispered pleas, although for the life of him, Puck couldn't figure out what he was pleading for. "You can't...you can't just do this and still say you're not interested."

Words. Right. Kurt was apparently as big on those as a chick was. Which, well, Puck should have expected, all things considered. When he was aroused, Puck was either terrible with words or great with words, depending on the moment, when he could piece together exactly what was expected of him, and how difficult it was going to be to get from Point A to Point Bed. Which was all well and good, but even with the fact that Puck's dick was aching something fierce, he wasn't thinking about bed, or well, much at all. He was good just standing in the kitchen smelling Kurt and holding him close and-

-Yeah, that was the gayest thing he'd ever thought in his life. But Kurt was still holding on, and Puck hadn't moved his hand, and really, if all it took to keep Kurt raring to go was just saying it...

Well then. Puck was going to have to say something.

"Okay. This is totally hot right now, as long as you shut up and stop doing the 'feelings' thing. Can we just go with it?"

Kurt made a nose, and at first Puck was ready to hear a mouthful of bitchery. He still expected the bitchery, actually, even after he realized that the sound was the most lady-like snort of laughter that anything with a pair of balls could possibly produce. More amazing than that, though, was the fact that the noise didn't at all interfere with Puck's boner. Huh.

"That's the best I'm gonna get, isn't it?" Kurt said, and he was still amused, even if his tone had taken that put-upon air to it that always made Puck roll his eyes.

Puck lapped at Kurt's neck again, and Kurt's body practically hummed in response. One of Puck's arms snaked around to hold the back of Kurt's neck gently. He sort of shrugged. "Hey, man, you're a dude, and I'm a werewolf. The fact that I'm calling you hot is like a thing out of a sci-fi movie. Don't kill the moment."

"Oh, you're pushing it, you know that, right Puckerman?" Kurt glanced up at him, with a narrowed eyed, threatening look- Puck knew when he was getting threatened with 'if you keep sounding stupid, you're not getting any farther'. "Me kill the moment? You're hardly being romantic yourself."

"This was supposed to be romantic?"

"Annoying. Wool. Turtlenecks. One click away, mister." Puck growled, and nibbled at Kurt's neck. Which elicited a low moan from Kurt, who waved the hand that wasn't clinging to Puck's shirt. "I haven't ordered them yet, have I? You're still in my good graces..." Another nibble, a sniff, and another groan from Kurt as he pressed himself against Puck, who didn't need to smell his arousal when he could feel Kurt getting hard against him. "...for the moment."

Even surrounded by Kurt's scent, Puck laughed, and the buzz of lips against flesh made Kurt whimper.


End file.
